


because it’s not fucking broken yet

by IiIia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Body Insecurities, Cheating, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Texting, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, cursing, hanangst, insecure hanamaki, that I got way too into
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IiIia/pseuds/IiIia
Summary: Hanamaki breathes in the cold night air, closes his eyes and remembers that crooked smile. And he’s so tired of holding back, so he imagines leaning forward, a soft press of lips. And it’s nice until a kaleidoscope of sharp broken pieces crack the image. Just paper memories ripped like they’re fucking nothing. A smile crooked and distorted for all the wrong reasons.The bench is so cold and it’s time to move on. There’s urgency coursing through him. And he needs this, needs to fuck his feelings away, needs everything to be less sharp.





	because it’s not fucking broken yet

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote this I thought Hana’s birthday was in early January, so for my sanity can we pretend that’s real

 

He reminds himself that they’re just talking, it doesn’t have to mean anything. He sneaks another glance and Matsukawa is leaning closer, his lazy grin spread wider and well, it really does look like something. The girl laughs, her hand on his forearm. And Matsukawa looks so pleased.

Hanamaki turns the corner, slouches against the wall with a thump and fuck, he’s so tired of feeling like this. He so fucking tired of being jealous every time a girl flirts with Matsukawa, and then terrified that it might be more than a fling.

And, he’s so _tired_ of wistfully staring at Matsukawa at the end of every fling, because maybe he has a chance this time, and then being reminded by some shitty sex joke or idle gossip just how fucking unlikely that is.

“Makki,” and of course it’s Matsukawa interrupting his minor breakdown, the girl from before trailing behind sends him a small wave, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Fuck, how long has he been standing there? “I was thinking, asshole.”

“Didn’t know you could do that.” He grunts out another asshole in response, Matsukawa just bumps their shoulders. “If you’re done eye-fucking the floor let’s go.”

“Don’t be a dick, I’m ready.” He jerkily nods at the girl, because no matter how bitter his mouth tastes looking at her, she might be important to Matsukawa one day.

As he walks down the hall he doesn’t let himself think about the girl’s giggles as Matsukawa falls into step next to him a few long moments later.

Most of the students have already left, the halls empty except for a few stragglers and they only walk a few more paces before Matsukawa nudges his shoulder again, “You really alright, man?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Matsukawa huffs, before grabbing Hanamaki’s shoulder and turning him so they’re facing each other, “So you’ve been out of it lately and—,” he talks louder when Hanamaki tries to interrupt, “and if you need to talk about it I promise I won’t make fun of you for,” he lifts his eyebrow in faux consideration, “five minutes.”

Hanamaki tries to hide it with a neutral look, but he can’t fight the smile stretching across his face, because fuck, Matsukawa knows him— knows what to ask him, how to ask it.

“As gracious as that offer sounds,” he makes sure to add a small eye roll for effect, “I really am fine, just been tired.”

Matsukawa narrows his eyes, before exhaling a sigh. “Ok, ok.” He thumps Hanamaki’s shoulder, “Just know I’m here.”

Then Matsukawa’s lips curve forming one of those rare small smiles that are always a little crooked. And, fucking this is the other reason he can’t tell Matsukawa what’s really wrong. He knows Matsukawa, knows the guy really cares about him, would let him down gently, might even pity date him briefly (and fuck, that would hurt) before realizing that, no, best friend or not he really can’t be with a guy. He knows Matsukawa would be gentle, but they would never be the same.

And it would ruin them.

Because his confession wouldn’t be the big yes or no and done. They would spend the rest of their friendship putting the pieces back together, but it’d be hopeless. Shards would be lost and mangled in the ruined scape of his heartache. And those angry raw gaps would expand, destroying any hope at normalcy. Matsukawa would try being gentler and Hanamaki would hate that— would miss the way they argued, the sometimes-almost too mean jokes, the solid greeting thumps on his back— and he’d push back too hard. Desperately trying to overcompensate he’d be too rough and bitter and he’d end up fucking hating himself. Like a neglected wound he’d ache and infect until there’s nothing left but broken memories.

He’d hate himself if he never saw that rare crooked smile again.

It’s not until he’s walking home after practice—Matsukawa turning down his own street with a small wave, his arm still a phantom weight around Hanamaki’s shoulders— that he comes to the steely conclusion that, no, he can’t do this anymore.

He thinks about calling Oikawa, he’s seen the way he looks at Iwaizumi, but honestly, he doesn’t think they’ll have much to talk about other than mutual pinning and he really doesn’t want to think about that anymore. He also doesn’t like the idea of talking about the state of his pining with anyone, and shared situation or not he really doesn’t want an obnoxious guy like Oikawa pitying him.

So he opens the train app instead. Some guys in his class had been laughing about a gay meet up area they’d accidentally passed. Discreatly he’d written down the area and spent hours later searching for the exact location. He scrolls through the train schedule before deciding to take the next one.

Buzzing with energy he takes his clothes off and pulls out whatever from his closet, because honestly other than sports clothes and uniforms he doesn’t have that many options. He ends up in his favorite t-shirt and only pair of skinny jeans.

Pulling a sheet of lined paper from his school notebook he scribbles out a quick note to his mother saying he’s going to Matsukawa’s. His hand stills at the end of the line, a sad, sharp note echoeing in his chest, because fuck, he wishes that wasn’t a lie. He wants to sit next to him on the bed, their legs pressed together. Matsukawa’s thick eyebrows wrinkled in concentration, his fingers frantically pushing down on the controller.

That happy noise when he wins. The pout when he loses and collapses back onto the mattress. His shirt rides up exposing a line of tan skin, dark hair trailing to the edge of his sweatpants.

Hanamaki shakes his head, takes the pen off the paper, leaving a splotchy dark indent and writes that he might sleepover. Out of habit he doodles a small flower at the bottom— it always makes his mom smile.

It’s not until he gets off the train that he feels a jolt of nerves, because what the fuck is he going to do when he gets there. Is there, like, protocol. He knows the meet up area is basically a row of bars. Since he’s not old enough, should he wait outside? And, what the fuck is he supposed to say?

There’s loud music and people yelling around the corner and he’s not scared, okay, but suddenly his hands are shaking and he needs to fucking sit down.

He leans his head against the back of the bench rubbing his arms. It’s really fucking cold out and he wishes he’d brought a heavier jacket. There’s an extra loud laugh from the street over and well, maybe he should just go home. What’s the point if there’s only one person he wants to be with?

A group of old business men turn onto the side street their boisterous laughs interrupting the still winter air. They continue down the street, their steps uneven and shaky. A man that looks old enough to be his father winks at him as they walk by. He automatically looks down at his hands, twines his fingers together nervously until the group turns onto the busy street. And well, at least he knows he’s in the right place.

He rubs his fingers together more firmly, before jamming them in his pockets. The bench is cold beneath him, but he can’t fucking make himself move. All at once the quiet side street feels like nowhere—just dulled noises and aching want. A place caught between loud unfamiliar laughter, pounding music, and much further away, a familiar room. It’s warm and inviting, a lazy smile, sweetly tussled curls.

Soft sheets washed in lavender detergent intermingle with a familiar boyish scent— a little bit of sweat, cinnamon shampoo and something earthy. Hard broad shoulders pressed against his under the blanket. The edge of the old, worn Pokémon pillow—that’s hidden if anyone but him comes over— against the back of his head.

Breathing in the cold night air he closes his eyes and remembers that crooked smile. And he’s so tired of holding back, so he imagines leaning forward, a soft press of lips. And it’s so fucking nice until a kaleidoscope of sharp broken pieces crack the image. Just paper memories ripped like they’re fucking nothing. A smile crooked and distorted for all the wrong reasons.

The bench is so fucking cold and it’s time to move on. There’s urgency coursing through him. And he needs this, needs to fuck his feelings away, needs everything to be less fucking sharp.

He jolts at approaching footsteps. His heart’s racing, uprooted from his own little nowhere just seconds before he was ready. When his pulse slows he turns and watches someone sit on a nearby bench, lighting a cigarette. He narrows his eyes, aiming for casual and discreet as he examines the guy. All he can make out under the dim street light is dark clothes and a young face. He slaps on his cockiest grin, because, fuck it, he was about to go flirt with an entire street of men anyway.

He leans forward, before jolting back when his elbow misses his knee. “Uh, hey, do you, um, come here often?” His voice cracks awkwardly with his movement, and, holy fuck, he’s embarrassed.

The guy is quiet, and the lack of response digs sharply into Hanamaki’s ribs, but then, what the fuck, “Are you laughing at me?” And yes, he is definitely being laughed at, the guy actually starts laughing harder after his response.

“Fuck you.” He wants to say more, but can’t think beyond the jagged edges settling in his chest.

He stands up too quickly and stumbles over the base of the bench, and fuck, he needs to get out of here. He didn’t think his confidence could be shattered so quickly, but there’s something about this quiet nowhere, laughter reverberating between the walls and trees that makes him feel that much more vulnerable.

A tight wad of shards are merciless against is pounding heart, he pushes his hand hard against the ache, but starts walking away with slow, determined steps. He’s not going to let this stranger see his hurt.

There’s an almost strangled, “Wait,” from behind him. He moves his hand from his chest, shifts his face into a scowl and turns to the guy. “Come here, kid.” The guy’s motioning at him.

“I’m not a kid.” He wants his voice to come out biting, but it’s too soft and nervous.

“Alright, I’m sorry.” The guy says, still motioning for him to come.

And, he feels exposed, but it’s taken so fucking much for him to get this far. He squares his shoulders and walks over. The street lights are dim above him, but he can make out an almost apologetic turn of lips. His chest uncoils just a bit.

The lips quirk into a smirk and Hanamaki quickly trails is eyes up noting a strong jaw, dark eyes and hair; that he’s at least Hanamaki’s height and fuck, does this mean he has a type, _shit, don’t think about that right now._

“I live nearby.”

And Hanamaki’s lost, “What?”

The guy chuckles before taking another drag of his cigarette, his words thick puffs of smoke, “You asked if I come here often.”

“Oh.” He can feel his face heating up. The guy glances at him clearly amused, a few strands of his hair tumble attractively down his forehead, a longer strand just reaching his eye. And, holy shit, those fucking intense eyes.

He’s imagined being with a guy— big hands, low grunts, rough kisses— for so long that he’s only slightly embarrassed when arousal begins swirling in his stomach at even the chance.

“Kid, I think the better question is, do you come here often?” Hanamaki grumbles when the guy calls him kid again.

And honestly, he kind of wants to impress the guy and he really wants to seem more mature, but the guy has this knowing look and the truth just tumbles out. “No, it’s my first time.”

The guy looks away, takes a couple long drags from his cigarette and the little side street is quiet again. Hanamaki’s excitement turns to disappointment, because this is probably where the conversation ends. The guy had his fun, is going to walk away, because why would he want anything to do with an inexperienced little shit like Hanamaki.

“Yamazaki.”

Hanamaki hadn’t been expecting that and Yamazaki is looking at him again with a small smirk, and shit, he needs to play it cool, “I’m Hanamaki.”

Yamazaki stubs out his cigarette on the bench, before flicking it into a nearby trash can and moving closer. Resting his arm along the top of the bench his hand hovers in the air near Hanamaki, a silent question, and this, Hanamaki is a bit more used too— it’s the kind of move he’d pull on girls before he’d admitted to himself that he wasn’t actually attracted to them.

He nods his head and Yamazaki grazes his fingers along Hanamaki’s jaw. And fuck, he’s done this with girls before, but Yamazaki’s hands are so big, the pads of his fingers rough as they drag along his face. Hanamaki’s never felt so good after one touch, his fingers tremble against his leg, a warm flush covering his face.

Yamazaki moves his hand so he’s cupping the back of Hanamaki’s head and then he cocks his own to the right, narrowing his eyes, “How old are you?”

Hanamaki tries willing his blush away, “I’m, um, eighteen.” And it’s almost not a lie, but Yamazaki must be suspicious, because he starts pulling away with a gruff sigh.

“Wait,” Hanamaki grabs his retreating hand, “wait, fuck, I don’t know why I lied, but honestly, I’ll be eighteen in two weeks.” With his free hand he grabs his wallet showing Yamazaki his ID.

Fuck, he must look desperate. Yamazaki just glances at his ID— probably can’t see that much of it in the dark— before his eyes drift back to Hanamaki with an amused smile.

Yamazaki presses their lips together hard and fast and _this_ is what he needs. It tastes like ash and beer and it’s so different from what he imagined— a rare smile, sweet unsure laughs— that he feels powerful. Feels like he’s in control for the first time in so fucking long.

He falls forward desperately pressing back. Fingers slide down his neck pressing against the base of his skull and it feels so good his whole body shivers, his mouth opening with a soft gasp. He only has a moment to be embarrassed about the noise, because then Yamazaki nibbles his bottom lip and presses his tongue inside Hanamaki’s mouth.

And, Yamazaki pulls back way to fucking soon, “This your first time?”

Still dazed, he aims for indignant when he responds, “I’ve kissed lots of girls before.”

“No,” He shakes his head with a small gruff chuckle, “I meant with a guy.”

Yamazaki idly scratches the hairs at the base of his neck and it feels really nice, but he still flicks his eyes down embarrassed, “Yeah.”

Eyes heavy and calculating, Yamazaki’s fingers still at the back of his head. The light reflects intimidatingly across his face for another moment before his hand drops completely and extends in front of him, “Give me your phone.”

With a burst of excitement Hanamaki digs the device from his pocket. He has to pull harder when it catches on the edge of his tight jeans, his elbow hitting the back of the bench when he finally frees it. And Yamazaki laughs lightly as he puts his details in, passes the phone back and stands up with a long stretch.

Hanamaki stands up too. And fuck, this guy is way taller than him, his eye line just reaches Yamazaki’s top lip. The guy’s even taller than—, _fuck, don’t think about him right now._

Yamazaki looks down at him, his eyes darting across Hanamaki’s face, “And I’m going to tell you this now, because you look like a lost fucking puppy. I don’t do boyfriends.”

Hanamaki supposes that’s a fair— he has been acting like a blushing virgin. But honestly, he’s relieved, doesn’t think he could do serious. Doesn’t think it would be fair to try serious while he’s still so fucking into another guy.

“That’s perfect for me, man.”

Yamazaki leans down for a quick kiss before smirking, “Call me when your older then?” A group of rowdy old men collapse loudly at the mouth of the street and Yamazaki adds, glancing at them, “You should probably go home.”

The ‘kid’ at the end seems implied with the smirk Yamazaki throws over his shoulder, but Hanamaki chooses to ignore it this time.

And, Hanamaki, feels so fucking light going home, because even if he has to wait, this is exactly what he needs— easy and casual.

When he’s home, curled under his covers, he checks his phone and Yamazaki fucking put himself in as ‘really good kisser’. Hanamaki is so endeared.

 

But, he’s still staring at his ceiling as night turns into early morning, gripping his chest trying to fight the return of those dull aching pieces.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“Makki. Makki!” Fuck, Oikawa can be loud.

He grunts out a, “What,” hoping to shut him up.

“Who you texting?” And well, maybe, he should have been paying more attention, because when he looks up Oikawa’s lips are curled in a mischievous grin.

Next to him Matsukawa’s eyebrow rises curiously. Even, Iwaizumi looks up from his food with interest, meaning he must be really obvious.

But, fuck, he’s excited. It’s his birthday in less than a week and he really wants to do more than make out with Yamazaki.

Because, a fucking taste of Yamazaki’s calloused fingers, his big hands, those forceful kisses was not enough. _He needs more_ , because now he has an idea of what it would feel like to kiss Matsukawa. And he can’t stop wondering if the kisses would be as forceful. How their tongues would feel pressed together, Matsukawa’s hand on the back of his head pulling him closer.

If he just leaned a little closer this time. And well, it’s getting harder to ignore the urge.

And late at night, when broken pieces nervously push up his throat he lets himself imagine it was Matsukawa on that park bench. And that Matsukawa’s next to him, gently pressing calloused fingers against the nervous aching line of his neck. And Hanamaki imagines the touch. Soothed, he swallows the pieces until he can breathe again.

Pushing the shards down, Matsukawa’s phantom touches fade and he just stares at his ceiling, his body hollow.

And, he’s thought about going back to the bars and just picking fucking anyone up, so he can get over this. But he’ll remember the older men drunkenly slouched at the end of the street, their suits crinkled, voices slurred. Hanamaki imagines a stranger—quick and empty sex. Imagines that bench again, stuck in fucking nowhere and it’s too impersonal, too much. So instead, he’ll text Yamazaki a stupid joke, count his breaths and try falling asleep again when he gets a reply.

Now, under Oikawa’s watchful gaze he glances at his phone— ‘doubt it. bet ur a pillow princess’ from Yamazaki and then his reply, which is one of the more raunchy texts he’s sent— and stuffs it in his pocket. Oikawa’s mischievous smirk widens and Hanamaki reminds himself to change Yamazaki’s contact name.

“It’s just my sister.” And, that lie felt really weird, but he’s not going to tell them he’d made out with some random guy.

“Sure didn’t look like you were texting Himari.” There’s lazy smirk on Matsukawa’s face that makes him look unfairly handsome.

“Mattsun has a point. _And_ you’ve been on your phone a lot more lately.” Oikawa tacks on, a knowing glint in his eyes. Hanamaki needs to stop this conversation.

“Believe whatever you want, but it’s just Himari,” he lets a mischievous grin of his own spread across is face, “More importantly you’ll never guess who I saw getting confessed to the other day,” and maybe this is a little mean, but he’s cornered and he really can’t talk about Yamazaki, “Hm, Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi’s already frozen, a blush working its way up his neck and he grunts out an angry, “Hanamaki.”

Hanamaki glances at Oikawa and shit, he probably did go to far, because the guy is trying to paste on one of his inscrutable smiles, but it looks so fucking hollow. And, Hanamaki knows that feeling, feels like shit for causing it.

Matsukawa is the first to recover and pats Iwaizumi on the shoulder, “Nice, man. You going out with her?”

“No. I don’t even know her.” Hanamaki has to smile at that— good old Iwaizumi. “And stay out of my business Makki.” Iwaizumi hits the side of his head.

He grabs the spot as if he’s in pain, “Bara arms that hurt!” He puts on the sternest face he can and rests his elbow on the table. “This means war.”

Iwaizumi almost immediately clasps Hanamaki’s hand, his eyes narrowing challengingly.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes, but still grabs the top of their hands, “Ready, go!”

And, he looses almost immediately, but at least they’ve moved on. Oikawa calls him a loser his tongue poking out and well, he probably deserves that.

Matsukawa puts a consoling arm around his shoulder, which he really doesn’t mind. And in the spirit of losing and being distraught Hanamaki even allows himself to rest his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder. His head bouncing as Matsukawa chuckles murmuring that he’ll buy them cream puffs on the way home. He pats Hanamaki’s chest, his palm landing just above his heart.

Not letting himself imagine this is anything other than friendship he just over exaggerates his pout, sticks his tongue at Oikawa and hopes Matsukawa doesn’t notice that his heart is racing.

And he fucking clutches his phone when it vibrates in his pocket.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

TO: Yamazaki

it’s my birthday

 

INCOMING CALL: Yamazaki

Hanamaki fumbles with his phone for a moment before answering.

“Thought I told you to call.” And it’s been two weeks since Hanamaki’s heard his voice, but Yamazaki still sounds so fucking amused.

“Didn’t know that was so literal.” He says with as much snark as he can, but fuck, he’s nervous.

“You celebrating?”

“Ya, I’m with friends right now.” He’s actually standing in his bathroom right now, he can hear Matsukawa, Iwaizumi and Oikawa playing video games down the hall.

“You’re having a sleepover, right? Makes me feel like a cradle robber.” He wishes he hadn’t told Yamazaki about that.

“Man, shut up, you’re barely a year older than me.” And hadn’t that been a surprise. After a couple days of texting he’d learned that not only was Yamazaki just a first year in University, but he’d only turned nineteen a couple months ago.

“So, I think you have something to ask me?” Yamazaki is really insufferable sometimes, but Hanamaki figures it’s a fair trade, because so is he. It is also a characteristic he’s begrudgingly added to the growing list that make up his _type._

Hanamaki sighs dramatically, “Does your highnesses have time to meet Saturday?”

“I might. Depends on what you want to do?” Fucking insufferable.

And he looks away from his reflection in the mirror, because honestly, that shade of red is embarrassing.

“You know to, um—.” And fuck, he’s not shy, but this is still so fucking new.

“I think the word you’re looking for is fucking, specifically me fucking you.” Yes, he knows that, they’d texted about it. Yamazaki has been really intent on making sure he knows exactly what he’s getting into.

And, honestly hearing it out loud does make him nervous, but he’s been thinking about this for weeks and thrumming excitement completely outweighing nerves at this point.

He clears his throat, “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, Hanamaki,” and even through the tinny connection of the phone he really doesn’t mind the way Yamazaki says his name, “see you at the bench, 9pm.”

“See you.” _Fuck, he needs this._

He slips his phone in his pocket. And turning back to the sink he splashes cold water on his face until the blush goes away. Then he worries his fingers over the dark circles under his eyes.

He’s so tired.

Pressing a finger to the mirror he moves along the cool glass following the line of his neck, over his collar bone before settling splayed fingers right over his heart. He pushes against the glass, imagines applying enough pressure that it brakes. That worried heartbroken kaleidoscope visible in the cracked mirror.

He pulls his hand away grinning in the mirror, because it’s not fucking broken yet.

Hanamaki shakes his head and turns away. He can hear the soft rumble of the guys as he opens the door. Matsukawa’s standing at the other end of the hallway, looking over his shoulder and laughing. And he really shouldn’t, but he takes a moment to appreciate the wide line of his shoulders, the way his neck looks stretched to the side, before shutting the bathroom door loudly.

Matsukawa looks forward at the noise, “I was just coming to get you.” And then with a blank expression he puts the back of his hand against his forehead as if he’s about to faint and asks, “Were you taking a shit?”

Fucking insufferable.

 

 

Later when they’re all laid out on futons in the the living room— a much better alternative to fighting for the bed every fucking time— Matsukawa taps him on the shoulder, “Hana, you awake?”

Hanamaki turns over and whispers, because he’s not waking Iwaizumi up— that’s always a shit show, “What’s up?”

Matsukawa looks around making sure the others are asleep, he even prods Oikawa’s cheek a couple times to be sure.“I got you something else. Don’t want to hear Oikawa whining about wanting one.”

Leaning closer until most of his body is on Hanamaki’s futon, Matsukawa reaches down and pulls the blanket over their heads. Hanamaki freezes, because what the fuck is happening right now. Matsukawa is so fucking close, he’s close enough to kiss. Fuck, is that what’s happening, would this be something Oikawa wanted too?

But, Matsukawa just turns on his phone and hands Hanamaki a small plastic bag. And, Hanamaki really needs to stop thinking shit like that’s actually going to happen.

Honestly, he should really stop wanting it to happen— it wouldn’t work anyway.

“This better not be anything gross.” He takes the bag, relieved that his voice is steady.

Matsukawa just laughs quietly and it’s not fucking fair how fond he looks, “I wouldn’t be so close if it was. Come on, open it.”

He holds up the light from his phone and Hanamaki opens the bag, pulls out something long and thin also wrapped in plastic and he has to press his hand over his mouth so he doesn’t laugh too loudly.

“Holy shit, this is fucking adorable.” Pulling down the plastic he runs his fingers down the two silver chains until they reach the heart with BFF printed in the metal. He briefly grazes his finger over the jagged line running through the heart, pausing when Matsukawa nudges him with a smile.

He wants to make fun of Matsukawa, but the gift is so surprising and strange, but sweet— the exact type of gift Matsukawa usually gives— that all he says, still trying not to wake up the others by laughing is,“What the fuck, Mattsun.”

Matsukawa’s trying not to laugh as well, it takes a moment, but he finally controls his face so it’s almost expressionless. The almost is the small amused twitch at the side of his mouth.

He takes one piece of the necklace, holds it by the heart, presses the piece against Hanamaki’s and putting the light of his phone directly under his face for added ambience says, “Now you’ll never escape—,” he takes a rasping breathe, “—our friendship.”

Hanamaki’s shaking with laughter, but he’s not going to crack first, “Oh shit, but I was going to ignore you after tonight.”

“Take my presents and then abandon me, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, guess I foiled your scheming again, little man.”

And Hanamaki is just about to respond when there’s a loud whisper from outside the blankets, “What are you guys doing in there?”

Then the blanket is ripped off them and Oikawa practically yells, “What the hell! You guys have friendship necklaces, I want one!”

Hanamaki glances at Matsukawa and they’re howling with laughter.

Iwaizumi rises from his futon in the corner, he cracks his neck to both sides, looking fucking furious, “Shut the hell up!”

Almost simultaneously Hanamaki and Matsukawa race to the nearest room and lock the door. Oikawa’s “So mean” and “friendship necklace” and “Iwa-chan!” can be heard through the door. Hanamaki’s very grateful his mother’s a heavy sleeper.

“Told you he’d want one.” Matsukawa says with a grin holding up his half of the necklace. Hanamaki holds his own piece against Matsukawa’s to complete the heart and then he laughs so hard he has to sit down.

 

 

  

  

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

A few days later Hanamaki clutches the necklace in his pocket when he goes to meet Yamazaki. And maybe that’s fucked up, but well, maybe he is a little fucked up. When he turns onto the small side street he pushes the necklace deeper before taking his hand out of his pocket, folding his arms against his chest so he doesn’t keep touching it. Around the corner Yamazaki’s sitting on the same bench where they met, a cigarette lazily hanging in his fingers.

He stands up with a puff of smoke, “Come on, we’ll go to my place.”

Hanamaki peaks down the road of gay bars when they pass. And the anxiety Hanamaki had felt last time dissipates. Looking down the street it doesn’t make him feel as isolated as it had last time, might even be a place where he could fun one day.

A young guy in a midriff top calls Yamazaki’s name and Yamazaki waves shaking his head. Hanamaki feels cold just looking at the guy and nestles further into his jacket. The guy just pouts before pointing at Hanamaki and giving a thumbs up.

“Friend of yours?” A hot flush shoots up his neck when the guy gives another more vulgar gesture.

“Yeah, we’re in a lot of the same classes.” They step onto a much quieter street and the noisy bars fade into the still winter night, even their footsteps are muffled by a small dusting of snow.

“Your science classes, right?” His lips curl distastefully at the mention of his least favorite subject.

Yamazaki nods, laughing at Hanamaki’s expression. Then they spend the remainder of the walk discussing if science classes really deserved that disgusted of an expression. Hanamaki argues his face’s case with increasingly nonsensical reasons and is pleased when Yamazaki matches with equally ridiculous responses. He’s having such a good time that he’s surprised when they stop in front a small two-level apartment complex. Yamazaki puts out his cigarette before leading Hanamaki to the second floor.

He feels tenser with each step and by the time they’re in the entryway, taking off their shoes he’s stiff with nerves.

“Let me know if you want me to stop.” The words are solemn, almost mechanic and Hanamaki wonders if it’s possible Yamazaki really isn’t that interested in him. But then Yamazaki looks up and Hanamaki knows he’s not the only one that’s nervous.

He presses his fingers between Yamazaki’s eyebrows and smooths the creases, “Don’t have to treat me like a kid. I’m ready.”

Yamazaki looks him over, seems to relax and with a small amused sound pushes Hanamaki against the front door. Their noses press together and even under the harsh fluorescent light of the entryway Yamazaki looks really good. He has well defined features, plush lips, and those deep dark eyes. And Hanamaki really likes his hair—the dark strands tumbling down the sides of his forehead, a soft undercut in the back.

He doesn’t let himself think about shorter curlier hair, lighter eyes and sweet crooked smiles.

The kiss is really nice, less urgent then the first, it’s all slow catches of lips, and soft grunts. Hanamaki loops his arms around Yamazaki’s neck, pulling him in closer, running his fingers through the short hair at the base of his skull. Hanamaki arches as hands trail down his sides, stopping when they reach the hem of his shirt.

Then Yamazaki’s leans away, tugs off Hanamaki’s jacket and hangs it on a hook, before doing the same with his own. Impatiently Hanamaki jolts forward, pressing their lips together hard. Putting is hand against Yamazaki’s hipbone and pulling him closer, until he can feel each swell of his chest against his own.

He feels Yamazaki laugh into the kiss, so Hanamaki swats his ass. Yamazaki makes a surprised noise before crowding him right up against the door and kisses him so thoroughly that they’re both panting when they break apart.

Out of breathe, Hanamaki curls his fingers tighter around the back of Yamazaki’s head, his other hand clutching a shoulder for balance. Yamazaki smiles at him, his lips stained red. The smile switches to a smirk as Yamazaki leans down moving his mouth along Hanamaki’s neck. Gasping as lips slide along his skin, Hanamaki clenches his eyes shut at the sensation. Throws his head back with a groan when teeth nip his collar bone.

Yamazaki’s hand is warm as it drifts under his shirt, his fingers trace the arch of his back sending a satisfying jolt up his spine, his other hand moving lower to clutch Hanamaki’s ass.

Hanamaki’s exhilarated and turned on and feels so fucking hot, so he leans closer, “Should we go to the bed?”

Grunting, Yamazaki grabs his hand, leading him through the apartment. His hand curled in a bigger one. A tight desperate grasps, a soft tug so he walks faster. He feels so fucking desirable.

Of course that’s until they’re in the bedroom and Yamazaki tugs his own shirt off and Hanamaki— who apparently has no filter when he’s this turned on— says, “Holy shit, how’s this your body?”

Yamazaki shrugs his muscular shoulders and looks amused, “I play basketball.”

Hanamaki’s nerves come back in full force. Desirability fading against raging insecurities. He’s always been tall and skinny. And could never gain enough weight to build more than long lean muscle. It’s an old insecurity that he doesn’t let bother him as much anymore, but Yamazaki’s fucking built and Hanamaki clutches his much slimmer arm, familiar self-doubt washing over him.

With a small smile Yamazaki puts his thumb on Hanamaki’s lips and traces his frown, “We can still stop if you want.”

And Hanamaki really doesn’t fucking want that, so he leans into Yamazaki’s hand, “No, I want this, I’m just, uh,” he gestures to Yamazaki and then at himself, “feeling self-conscious.”

Moving closer for a quick kiss, Yamazaki practically breathes the words into his mouth, “Don’t worry I have very good taste.”

“Very humble too.” He smiles at his own joke, and they’re still close, so he presses in for another kiss.

Yamazaki’s hands clench his hips, his thumbs brushing over the waistline of his pants. They’re rough and calloused against his hipbones, but so hesitant now. And, Hanamaki wants to feel more of his skin, so he loops his fingers around Yamazaki’s wrist pushing his hand up further until it rests on his lower back.

Grunting, Yamazaki angles his head to deepen the kiss and starts nudging him backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed. He gasps loudly into the kiss when Yamazaki’s pinches he ass and can practically feel the body against his radiating smugness. Smirking into the kiss he clasps Yamazaki’s shoulders and flings himself back onto the bed, so they land in a mess of arms and legs.

The disgruntled, “idiot,” makes him laugh for a moment, but then Yamazaki presses against him and honestly, he can’t think past the way their clothed dicks rub together.

Their legs still tangled together Yamazaki lifts himself up balancing on his elbows. He smooths one of his hands along Hanamaki’s T-shirt until he reaches the hem and tugs at it once, his eyes not leaving Hanamaki’s, “This ok?”

And Hanamaki’s torn between how sweet it is and being so fucking turned on that he just nods. Sitting up when Yamazaki tugs his shirt up before collapsing when his hand runs down Hanamaki’s chest, one of his fingers catching on a nipple. Trailing his hand down until he reaches Hanamaki’s jeans, he cups Hanamaki’s erection through his pants with one hand— Hanamaki covers his mouth halfway through a loud moan. Yamazaki’s other hand flicks off the button and pulls his zipper down.

Moving his hand inside the pants and he rubs Hanamaki’s dick through his underwear, “Still ok?”

Hanamaki nods, briefly pulling his hand away from his mouth, talking around gasping breathes, “Yeah, ah fuck, you don’t have to keep asking.”

And, with one tug Yamazaki pulls his jeans and underwear down. He can feels the the BFF necklace in his pocket as his pants are draged off. And Hanamaki hates himself a little when he groans.

Lighter eyes, shorter hair, a sweet crooked smile— he groans into his hand again.

A hand fists around his dick and Hanamaki bursts back to reality— darker eyes, longer hair, an amused smile. He runs his free hand up Yamazaki’s back and desperately clasps the meat of his shoulder trying to ground himself in the moment.

Yamazaki tugs Hanamaki’s hand away from his mouth and murmurs between quick kisses, “Don’t worry about being loud.”

Leaning back Yamazaki reaches across the bed digging around in his bedside table drawer, coming back with comes back with a bottle of lube, “You ever?”

“No, I, uh—,” and, fuck he needs to clear his throat, because he already sounds wrecked, “I tried, but I had no fucking clue what I was doing.”

And then it’s just a blur of Yamazaki’s wet fingers inside him and fuck, he should really do this more, because when Yamazaki curls his fingers that way he fucking sees stars. And he thinks he might come, so he reaches for Yamazaki’s belt, tugs at it until Yamazaki stops rolling Hanamaki’s already hard nipple between his fingers and moves to undoe his own pants.

“Can we, uh, ah,” the fingers inside him curl just right, “I’m, ah, ready.”

He pulls Yamazaki’s dick out of his boxers to be as clear as possible. Yamazaki hands him a condom, watching intently as Hanamaki opens it with trembling fingers. His breathe stutters when Hanamaki rolls it onto his dick. And Hanamaki can hear his own groan reverberate around the room when Yamazaki pulls his fingers out with a wet pop.

And then Yamazaki is all around him and the room is filled with pants and grunts, the bed squeaking rhythmically and it hurts, but then it’s all just so fucking good.

When he comes he only imagines _shorter hair, lighter eyes, a sweet smile_ for a moment. 

He doesn’t let himself think about that to much.

Afterwards when they’re laying in bed, their shoulders pressed together, Yamazaki looks over at him, “You’re actually pretty fucking cute.”

He can see a hint of that amused smile, but it’s so fucking genuine that Hanamaki has no clue what to do, so he splutters and turns red, because he hasn’t been called cute since Junior High, and he says, “I’m not cute,” punching Yamazaki’s arm to make his point.

Yamazaki just laughs, mumbles something about fucking pink hair and pulls him in for another kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

*

 

 

 

 

“Issei-kun, will you come with me for a second.”

Hanamaki raises his head from the grass to see the girl from before leaning over Matsukawa.

She smiles at him too, “Hello, Hanamaki-kun.”

He waves back. Matsukawa wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, before following the girl. Hanamaki falls back against the grass. He’s really trying not to be so fucking bitter about the whole situation, but when he turns is head to watch them leaning against a tree together jealousy burns in his chest.

She’s not even that pretty he thinks absentmindedly pressing his fist against the ground—it’s still kind of hard from the cold. There are a couple more weeks until spring really begins, but today’s one of those rare days when warmer weather begins lazily pushing against winter. It’s days like this when the air is still brisk enough that most won’t go outside, but the sun is warm enough to fight the chill that Hanamaki and Matsukawa eat lunch outside, usually alone.

The girl presses closer to Matsukawa, her whole body lifted on her toes for a kiss and Matsukawa still has to hunch most of his torso over for her to reach.

She’s not even that— Hanamaki stops the thought, because he’s so fucking tired of being bitter. The girl, no, Suzuki Chika,— as much as he wishes he could hate her— is incredibly nice. And fuck, he’ll admit it, pretty.

Hanamaki looks at the sky again when Matsukawa starts walking back.

“Fucking nice, right?” Matsukawa flops down and nudges his shoulder.

He laughs, maybe a little too hard, “Yeah, you got it made, man.” And because he just can’t fucking help himself asks, “First names, huh?”

Matsukawa gives him a filthy smirk and Hanamaki’s so caught off guard that he’s not even ready for, “Well, she did let me go all the way last weekend.”

Hanamaki feels sick at the thought, but he’s done this before, so he pushes it away and makes himself laugh.

“I was worried for Mattsun Jr., it had been so long.”

Matsukawa laughs punching his shoulder, “I was pretty worried too, gave him a checkup every night.”

Hanamaki really doesn’t let himself think about that, “Come on, keep that shit to yourself.”

He glances back at the sky, there’re only a couple clouds blocking blue, the sun’s shining big and bright just above them. He spots the moon higher on the horizon, it’s just a thin faded crescent in the light. His mom always said it was good luck when the moon was bright and heavy during the day, she’d hold his hand up until he was pointing at the moon, always high above and coated in blue. He’d always wondered what it meant on days like today when the moon was nothing more than a faded wisp. He’d never asked afraid the answer would be, ‘nothing’.

And once as he watched the sun dip further into the horizon he asked her if the moon would be lonely. Her smile had a sad edge in the golden hue of sunset. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘but the moon always finds it’s way back to the sun. Every meeting more precious, because they will part.”

He wishes he could roll over and tell Matsukawa that he’s the moon, a distant wisp, faded in the bright sky, but happy in the presence of the sun.

With a small smile he wonders when deadpan sarcastic, always-tired Matsukawa became his sun. He remembers first year when Matsukawa smiled at him for the first time and Hanamaki supposes its been a long time.

He idly wonders when he became such a sap.

“What about you?” Matsukawa glances at him, “Any girls you like?”

Hanamaki remembers big hands pressing against his back, lips on his neck, “Nope,” he pokes Matsukawa’s cheek until a lazy grin spreads across his face, “It’s not so bad being single.”

 

 

  

  

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

FROM: Mattsun

Come over I want to crush you at Mario cart

 

TO: Mattsun

u wish

TO: Mattsun

can’t have to study

 

FROM: Mattsun

My mom made cookies

 

TO: Mattsun

!!!

TO: Mattsun

I can’t come tho :(

 

FROM: Mattsun

:(

FROM: Mattsun

Having Makki withdrawal

 

TO: Mattsun

tomorrow?

TO: Mattsun

bring cookies

 

FROM: Mattsun

I ate them

 

Hanamaki feels bad about lying, especially since he hasn’t seen Matsukawa outside of school all week. He misses Matsukawa a lot, but being with Yamazaki helps. His chest doesn’t feel so fucking sharp and he’s actually sleeping through the night. And well, he keeps the friendship necklace close for the nights he can’t. Presses his fingers into the ridges of the heart until he can forget the aching edges in this chest.

And, honestly today’s lie isn’t entirely his fault. Earlier, Yamazaki called asking if he could come to Hanamaki’s and not even fifteen minutes later had barged in, mumbling something about coming from a nearby basketball game. Then he carried Hanamaki to his room, which had been hilarious— the guy didn't have a clue where he was going. Hanamaki had laughed almost hysterically as Yamazaki opened each door with increased frustration.

They’ve been meeting for weeks, spending most of their time fucking on Yamazaki’s bed (and the entranceway a few more impatient times).

And really, Hanamaki’s not lying to Matsukawa about needing to study, because between meeting with Yamazaki, volleyball and trying to carve out a little time for his friends he’s really behind. He’d actually been planning on spending the day cramming in work.

Hanamaki realizes just how shot to hell his plan is as Yamazaki rolls off him for the second time that afternoon, but he’s really struggling to care after such an amazing orgasm (and through fucking will power alone he didn’t even picture Matsukawa). Yamazaki, the big fucker, is taking up most of the bed, so Hanamaki wiggles down a little to use his arm as a pillow. 

Initially, it had been a little weird seeing Yamazaki in his childhood home, but his mom works on Saturday and his sister moved out so at least he’s not worried about being caught. And now, Yamazaki’s scratching that place on the back of his neck that just makes him melt, so he really doesn’t care. 

“I really fucking needed that.” Yamazaki’s breathe is still a bit ragged, but he definitely seems less tense then when he walked in.

And well, that was the weirdest part of seeing Yamazaki today. They’ve done this enough times that Hanamaki could tell something was bothering Yamazaki. He could tell during sex by the strained line of his shoulder, the desperate way he clutched Hanamaki’s hips, the hazed, far-away look in his eye.

“You loose that basketball game?”

Yamazaki glances at him before getting out of bed and searching for his clothes, “Nah, I won.”

Following him, he tugs his own pants on and nudes Yamazaki with his hip, “You seem pretty stressed.”

Yamazaki goes still for a moment, his shirt tugged halfway on, his hand still extended from poking Hanamaki back, that faraway look back in his eyes. Then Yamazaki seems to restart and he’s tugging his jacket on tensely.

He’s starting to think he should stop prying, keep it light like usual when Yamazaki sighs, “I saw someone I wasn’t expecting.”

And, oh, that’s what’s different today, “You saw an old crush?” Hanamaki follows him to the front door leaning down to put his shoes on too, “I’ll walk with you until the convenience store.”

Yamazaki breathes through his nose slowly, it’s a large cloud in the cold air, “More like an ex.” ‘That I’m still getting over’ goes unsaid, but it’s pretty fucking obvious at the point.

Hanamaki wonders if it’s recent, because now that he thinks about it Yamazaki’s apartment is a bit big for one person, the furniture spread far and wide as if pieces are missing. And there’s that one photograph that’s been knocked off his bedside table. He’d just thought the guy didn’t care about decorating or being tidy. But now, Hanamaki’s a little disappointed he hadn’t figured out the ex thing earlier.

And, he wants to know more, because Yamazaki is someone he considers a friend and Hanamaki really fucking knows what it’s like wanting someone that doesn’t feel the same. But, Yamazaki is so fucking tense again, so instead he pushes him into the small seldom used ally that cuts through to the park.

He glances down the empty street and figures it’s dark enough, so he leans up and wraps his arms around Yamazaki’s shoulders, pushing close enough that their lips are almost touching, “Never fear your fuck buddy is here.”

Yamazaki leans in to kiss him all needy and desperate and Hanamaki hopes Yamazaki hears the intended, ‘I’m here for you’. It’s a sad imitation of Matsukawa’s words a month earlier, but Yamazaki’s gently touching the back of his neck, so he figures it’s fine.

 

 

Later, Hanamaki walks home, swinging a grocery bag happily, looking forward to a nap— he’s learned he sleeps well after sex.

But that plan’s shot to hell pretty fast, because Matsukawa’s sitting on his front step looking so fucking hurt, “How was studying?”   

He’s still hoping this is about something else, so he holds up the grocery bag, “I went to get snacks.”

“I saw you in the ally.”

Fuck.

“Mattsun—.” Matsukawa just stands up, gestures to the door.

They walk back to Hanamaki’s room, and shit, he wishes they’d stayed in the living room, because he would have preferred his mom walking in than having this conversation in his room. His sheets still rumpled, condom in the trash and the smell of sex still lingering in the air.

Hanamaki goes to the bed and pulls up the blanket, because fuck, he feels exposed right now.

“I thought we told each other everything.” Matsukawa looks so lost standing in the middle of his room and it’s so fucking wrong.

“Matsukawa, it wasn’t— it’s not, fuck.” Hanamaki can’t breathe, because what if, after all of this, he loses Matsukawa.

“And fuck, you don’t have to tell me everything, but lately you’ve just been gone.” Hanamaki feels like shit. “And it’s— you can trust me, ok?”

And there’s one secret he’ll always keep from Matsukawa (because, fuck missing pieces), but it’s probably time that he tells Matsukawa his other secret.

“I’m gay.” And fuck, that’s the first time he’s said it out loud. Matsukawa’s just standing there and Hanamaki feels the words reverberate loudly through the room.

He can feel those sharp pieces digging into the base of his throat and they’re so fucking heavy that he just slumps down in front of his bed. His head falling against his knees, so he doesn’t have to see Matsukawa staring at him anymore. And he just fucking needs a moment to breathe.

“Hanamaki, hey it’s okay,” and Matsukawa’s hand is gentle on his shoulder, “you’re okay, I promise.”

Sitting next to him Matsukawa throws an arms over his shoulder and he uncoils a bit, “I’m here, man.”

“You’re not mad anymore?” And fuck he’s tired of sounding vulnerable.

“I’m not mad, especially not about this.” Matsukawa squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, “I just— I’ve missed you lately.”

Hanamaki looks up and of course Matsukawa throws him one of those lazy smiles, “And I kind of figured that out after I saw your hot make out session.”

He kicks Matsukawa in reply, his face a little warm.

“You won’t treat me any different, right?” Because, Hanamaki’s still worried about those little pieces fitting together.

Matsukawa almost looks offended, “Of course not.”

Relieved, he leans his head against the bed and Matsukawa uses his free hand to nudge Hanamaki’s head against his shoulder.

“Sorry if you weren’t ready to tell me that.” Matsukawa’s peering down at him kindly, but with a tint of worry furrowing his brow.

“It’s fine.” He moves his fingers against the worried line, smoothing out the creases before realizing what he’s doing and lowering his hand to tug the string of Matsukawa’s ‘Sleepy Af’ hoodie. “I just— you’re just the first person I’ve told.”

And fuck, he was holding a dick in his hand less then an hour ago, but now, talking about it in his room with Matsukawa makes it all feel so real.

“Except that guy, huh?”

“We’ll I guess, but we don’t really talk about it we’re more like,” and he doesn’t really know what they are so he just mimes jerking off before remembering Yamazaki’s tense shoulders earlier and has to add, “and friends.”

Things with Yamazaki have become so separate from the rest of his life. When they’re together it’s loud laughs, breathy sighs, hands clasping the back of his head, kisses pressed everywhere— lips, neck, the inside of his ankle, his thigh— and they don’t really talk about the hard stuff.

“I want to meet him.”

Hanamaki whips his head to look at Matsukawa, “We’re really not serious.”

“You’re friends, right? Come on you’ve met all my,” he mimes jerking off, “friends.”

And yes, he really fucking knows that. “They’ve all gone to our school.”

“But this guy’s like your gay mentor.” Matsukawa seems to consider that for a moment, “Wait is this your first time with a guy?”

Heat flushes his cheeks, so he punches Matsukawa as a distraction, “Yes, you fucking idiot.”

“Well what would I know I’ve barely seen you all month.” Matsukawa says, sadly rubbing his arm, his bottom lip jutting out—it’s clear Oikawa has been a terrible influence.

And, “Fine I’ll ask him.”

Because honestly, what are the chances Yamazaki will actually come.

 

 

  

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“Sure.”

Hanamaki is already nodding his head to except the no, “Wait, really?”

He hadn’t been expecting that answer and fuck, he doesn’t know how he’s going to sit at a table with just Yamazaki and Matsukawa. He’s actually been putting off asking Yamazaki for that exact reason.

But, Matsukawa has been sticking close to him the last few days, giving Hanamaki these sad guilty looks (fucking Oikawa). So, of course, when they finish practice early he goes straight to Yamazaki’s (because, if he has to ask he might as well do it in person, so he also gets to fuck).

“Why not, right?” Yamazaki nudges their foreheads together, “I won’t pass up free food.”

Hanamaki pokes his cheek, “Don’t think this means you can empty my wallet.” Because he’s seen how much the guy can eat.

“But what did your friend say, I’m your elder gay or some shit.” He turns his head and bites at Hanamaki’s finger, before pulling a cigarette from the pack on his bedside table and lighting it.

“More like a shitty gay trash can.”

Yamazaki chuckles, “Maybe you should start using honorifics when you talk to me,” He nudges Hanamaki, “call me Yamazaki-san, no wait, sama.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes, moves so he’s laying on top of Yamazaki, who places his barely-smoked cigarette in the ash tray and squeezes Hanamaki’s hip.

“What about Yamazaki-senpai.” Hanamaki says, in a sultry tone that’s ruined when he wiggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Or,” he thinks back to when he’d seen Yamazaki’s first name written out, “Asahi-senpai.”

Now Yamazaki’s rolling his eyes, but Hanamaki definitely feels his dick twitch. And well he’s having fun now, “Well, maybe that’s too much,” he rubs his chin, pressing closer, “What about a nickname, maybe, Zaki?”

Hanamaki says it as a joke, but suddenly Yamazaki’s tense. He nudges Hanamaki off and sits up, leaning his back against the wall, reaching for his still lit cigarette and taking a long drag. And, Hanamaki recognizes that tense line in his shoulder from the last time they were together. He sits up and hesitantly leans so their shoulders are touching.

They sit in silence, because as much as Hanamaki wants to ask more he knows that some questions are better left unanswered, that sometimes you can fucking hurt yourself. But, he also thinks about Matsukawa’s hand on his shoulder, his ‘it’s ok’ lifting mountains off his chest.

He doesn’t know what to do so he just places his hand on Yamazaki’s and murmurs his own, “It’s ok.”

And, Yamazaki doesn’t say anything, but he clutches Hanamaki’s hand, so maybe it really will be.

 

 

  

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Hanamaki just sat down in the small family style restaurant, had just started nervously anticipating Matsukawa and Yamazaki’s arrivals when Oikawa sat opposite him.

“I followed you.” He says, as if that’s the most normal answer.

“Fuck, Oikawa.”

“Ya, I know, weird, but you’ve been acting so,” and flutters his hands in the air as if that means anything, “lately, so when you walked past my house, you know where I live and there are windows, looking like the world might end any minute I followed you.”

And well, he had circled Oikawa’s house a couple times wondering if he should ask for help, before solemnly deciding to go on alone. “Ok, but maybe you could go, it’s not, uh, a great time.”

Oikawa just shakes is head before saying, “Is this about your thing for Mattsun?”

And fuck, of course Oikawa had picked up on that.

“Because you know I get.” Hanamaki nods and relaxes because, if anyone gets it, it’s Oikawa.

And, he might as well tell Oikawa, “Fuck it, so this is going to be a lot and I don’t have much time.” Hanamaki tenses when the bell over the door rings, but it’s just a group of girls.

“Ok, I couldn’t deal with the whole Mattsun thing,” Oikawa nods leaning closer to listen, “so I went and met a guy, his name’s Yamazaki, hoping that would help and then Mattsun saw us making out and I had the whole big sappy coming out. Then Mattsun wanted to meet Yamazaki even though we’re casual and now they’re both going to be here any minute and I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”

Oikawa nods slower this time, peering at Hanamaki as he catches his breathe, “So it seems like I should stay?”

“Yes fucking please.”

The bell rings again, “Oikawa? What’re you doing here?”

Matsukawa sidles up to their table and hesitates before sitting next to Oikawa.

“I followed Makki here.”

Matsukawa snorts, “That actually doesn’t surprise me.” Then he turns to Hanamaki, “You ok with your stalker being here?”

Hanamaki talks over Oikawa’s spluttering, “Yeah it’s fine, got to keep my stalker updated.”

And he must have missed the bell this time, because suddenly there’s an arm pulling him in, curling over his head and messing with his hair, “You have a stalker?”

He nudges at Yamazaki before leaning back, “Just Oikawa,” he points to the guy, “he followed me here, but he’s harmless.”

Hanamaki also gestures to Matsukawa who gives a small wave, “And this is Matsukawa.”

“Yamazaki.” He says nodding at them.

Oikawa seems to splutter back to life,“Wait, you’re like, really hot.”

Hanamaki wants to sink into the fucking floor. Yamazaki’s smirk is wicked, but he grazes their fingers together gently under the table.

Oikawa clutches his chest at the look, “Makki what— how?”

Matsukawa’s nudging Oikawa and giving him his best Iwaizumi patented shut up look. A look Hanamaki has failed to master many times.

And, Hanamaki’s thinking about the best way to embarrass Oikawa when he feels Yamazaki’s hand move up his back.

“You’re really underestimating how cute Hanamaki can be.”

“Cute?” Oikawa says around a snicker and even Matsukawa’s covering his mouth

He turns to Yamazaki, “How many times have I told you I’m not—.”

And then Yamazaki presses against that one fucking place on his neck and he just melts.

Matsukawa murmurs a, “Fuck.”

“Holy shit, he is cute.” Oikawa’s desperately patting his pockets, “I didn’t know Makki could blush like that, I need a picture. Wait, Makki don’t hide! No one will believe me.”

He’s thankful when the waitress sets waters down at their table and takes their orders. He says his from behind a menu and swats Yamazaki with it when the waitress leaves.

Yamazaki chuckles, “Looks like I’m in trouble.”

“And make it double, dickweed.” Hanamaki glares at him, but nudges his knee under the table.

Rolling his eyes, Yamazaki nudges him back, “Okay, asswipe.”

Matsukawa glances between them a curl of confusion in his brow and Hanamaki has to stop himself from reaching over, “So, how’d you guys meet again?”

Yamazaki’s trying not to laugh, “Now that’s a story I’m sure I shouldn’t tell.”

“So it’s really embarrassing?” Oikawa claps his hands looking way to fucking excited as he glances between Yamazaki and Hanamaki.

“No,” Hanamaki grunts, he does not want to relive that, “And we’re not talking about it.”

Oikawa gives Yamazaki his patented pout, “Won’t you tell us Yamazaki-san?”

Yamazaki looks at Hanamaki whose shaking his head furiously and chuckles, “Looks like I can’t tell you that one.”

“Come on give us something.” Oikawa’s clearly excited to have some teasing material.

Yamazaki smirks at Hanamaki, “He did stop mid-handie because I’d never seen ‘The Brave Little Toaster’, made me watch the whole thing before we did anything else.”

He knocks Yamazaki’s shoulder above the table, but tangles their hands together below, because he remembers the laptop perched precariously on his lap, Yamazaki pressed against his back, a thumb dragging along his hand and really there are far more embarrassing stories Yamazaki could have told.

He tries sounding offended, “That’s a great movie. You loved it and totally cried.”

Yamazaki’s shaking his head, but he’s also smiling, moving his fingers so their hands are clasped more firmly.

“I think we can all agree that’s an amazing movie,” Matsukawa looks more leveled now as he pointedly ignores Oikawa’s grumbled, ‘I couldn’t sleep for a week’, “But I have a really good Makki story.”

By the time they leave the restaurant they’ve told enough embarrassing Hanamaki stories that he’s considering never speaking to any of them again and he tells them exactly that.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Yamazaki rests his hand on Hanamaki’s shoulder and leans forward to kiss his temple, “I’ll buy you cream puffs next time.”

He waves at Oikawa and Matsukawa, before lighting a cigarette and walking away.

“Are you sure you’re not dating?”

He turns to Oikawa, “It’s not serious.”

Oikawa has that tight frown on his face that means he’s trying to figure out how to say something that might not go over well, “Maybe you should be dating?”

He’s getting a little frustrated, because it’s not like that, “Man, listen to what I’m telling you.” He turns to Matsukawa for some help, but Matsukawa’s just giving him a confused faraway look.

Scrunching his eyebrows with concern, he’s about to ask what’s wrong, but Matsukawa’s expression shifts into something more neutral. And he turns to Oikawa, “Leave him alone stalker.”

“Hey!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

His mom’s sitting at the table when he walks into the kitchen. Her favorite eighties band playing quietly from the beat up CD player she refuses to throw away.

“Hey, didn’t think you’d be home yet.”

“Its been a mess, you know, but we finally finished with that one client,” She looks exhausted and he rubs her shoulders sympathetically before moving to sit across from her.

She sighs reaching for the stack of mail on the table, “You got mail.”

Her fingers clasp a cream colored envelope with familiar handwriting printed in neat lines across the front. The envelope crumples slightly in her grip, but she places it almost gently in front of him.

Sharp edges press at the base of his throat, “I don’t want it.”

She closes her eyes, looks even more exhausted when she opens them, “Takahiro.”

“No. No, he can’t just do this.” Can’t just send a fucking letter every couple months like it fixes anything.

“Takahiro, please.” She pushes the letter closer, her hands trembling.

And it’s like this every fucking time. She looks so desperate and tired, so he presses his finger under the flap, pulls out a glossy photograph.

She touches his hand until he lies it flat against the table and peers at the smiling faces.

“He looks happy.” She says with a small broken chuckle.

Hanamaki remembers her crying. Gasped breathe, ‘Don’t leave me’, a sob, _‘but, why?’._ A soft murmur, ‘I’m sorry. I love her.’

A broken plate on the floor, its pieces spread across the kitchen, a sharp pain in the sole of his right foot. His sister carried him to the bathroom. She wiped away his blood and his tears as her own bottom lip trembled. The front door opened and closed with a thud.

And, he’s so tired of sharp pieces. Tired of his mother’s voice still sounding so broken after years. The way his sister flinches whenever something breaks, her eyes darting to his foot. He’s tired of getting mail he stopped answering years ago. Tired of the fucking photographs of smiling faces— young children clenching popsicles, their mother wiping sticky faces, the man laughing with a child swung over his shoulder.

His mother pulls back, clenches her hands together on the table with a wobbly smile.

The music seems achingly loud in the silence. The CD player he gave her. They used to dance. He’d sneak out of bed when he heard the soft tones, he’d peak into the kitchen and watch them. She’d laugh, delighted, when he twirled her. Smile, softly as she leaned up to press their foreheads together. It’s been a long time since he’s seen her smile like that.

Pieces cut into him and it’s too fucking much. The room is loud and bright and raw, the picture digs into his palm, his mother’s hands shake, his chest fills with a dark ache and he’s so _angry._

“I’m not— we can’t do this anymore.” He holds up the photograph.

She says his name again, reaching for his hand.

And, he knows that endings hurt too much, but he can’t watch her do this anymore. He can’t do this anymore. He rips his hand away from her, stuffs the picture back in the envelope, ignores the note inside and rips the letter down the middle.

He tears it apart until there’s just small bits of paper pilled in front of him. Paper memories ripped apart so easily just like the thud of the front door closing.

And, there’s no satisfaction, the anger just drains away and it’s just paper. He’s just tired. His mother’s hands shake harder, her eyes moist, so he moves closer and pulls her in, sits still while she cries on his shoulder.

 

Hours later when he’s staring at his dark bedroom ceiling, he calls Matsukawa, but it goes to voicemail. He closes the phone and turns on his side pressing his palm against his chest where all the pieces have settled.

 

 

  

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“Nice kill.” Iwaizumi plops next to him on the gym floor.

“Thanks man.” He looks away from Matsukawa hunched figure, trying to smooth the concern from his face before smiling at Iwaizumi.

“I heard,” the skin between his eyebrows crinkles more— a look most think is intimidating, but he knows Iwaizumi’s just trying to concentrate, “I mean Oikawa told me about the dinner.” There’s a light tint to Iwaizumi’s cheeks now, “I mean the dinner with the guy.”

He’d figured Oikawa would tell Iwaizumi. He nods, nudging him encouragingly.

Iwaizumi makes a frustrated noise, his blush darkening, “I just wanted to tell you I’m glad you found someone you like.”

“It’s not serious,” Hanamaki wants to tease him, but Iwaizumi looks painfully earnest, so he just knocks their arms together, “but thanks.”

“Let me know if he doesn’t treat you right.” The sentiment’s sweet enough that a light flush dusts his own cheeks.

Endeared, it feels like he’s only half joking when he clutches his heart dramatically, “I’m swooning.”

“Shut up.” Iwaizumi swats him.

“What are you two doing?” Oikawa’s standing over them. His smile indicating he already knows exactly what they’re talking about.

He pauses briefly, “We were wondering,” he looks Oikawa up and down, “is teal really your color?”

Iwaizumi snorts when Oikawa immediately squawks in protest. Walking past them Kunimi chuckles adding that teal _is_ a hard color to pull off.

He pauses mid snicker when Matsukawa sidles over stopping a few steps behind Oikawa. His shoulders are hunched, the line of his body strained and uncomfortable. His gaze unfocused, landing just above Hanamaki’s shoulder.

Hanamaki pushes himself up, narrowly avoiding Iwaizumi’s foot before it crashes into Oikawa.

“Hey man,” He stops in front of Matsukawa nudging his shoulder, “you need five nonjudgmental minutes?”

Matsukawa’s eyes focus with a tight smile, “Nah, just need to nap before class.”

And he doesn’t know what to do, because he’s never seen Matsukawa this closed off. There’s a strained look in his eyes, his brow drawn down and crinkled in defensive lines, his arms twisted and taught in front of him.

There’s something anxiously reminding him of broken pieces in each tense feature, his chest is raw and red at the thought. And well, maybe he is scared. He doesn’t want to leave Matsukawa alone with whatever this is, but he knows how easily everything can break.

Trying to brighten his smile, he pokes Matsukawa’s brow, falling back to the familiar, “Napsukawa the Great.”

His chest feels less heavy as Matsukawa visibly relaxes, “My true name, my eternal legacy.”

“I’m so proud.” Hanamaki wipes away a fake tear. “An icon.”

Matsukawa tries talking around a yawn and the reply is jumbled and pitched strangely.

“Come on,” he throws an arm around Matsukawa’s shoulder leading them to the locker room, cheering lightly as they pass Iwaizumi pulling Oikawa into a headlock, “you have a very important nap coming up.”

“Nice.” Matsukawa follows him sluggish, “Oh yeah, you called last night?”

“My dad,” he sneers at the word, “sent a letter.”

“You okay?” Matsukawa looks more alert, his eyes narrowing.

“I’m fine. It’s just the same shit every time, you know? Fucking exhausting.”

Matsukawa curls his arm around Hanamaki, “Want to skip?”

“I can’t miss first period again.” They pause outside the locker room, Hanamaki sighs his chest tight and sharp, “and I just don’t want to think about it anymore.”

Nodding, Matsukawa squeezes his shoulder pushing into the locker room. “Want to hear how Touma got in a fuck ton of trouble with my mom last night?”

And there’s still something so wrong with the way Matsukawa’s holding himself. Hanamaki hates himself when he doesn’t ask.

 

 

  

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

A couple days after they lose the spring high semi-finals the third years pass around a bottle of Sake Oikawa swiped from his parents. Hanamaki’s sprawled out on Oikawa’s bedroom floor his mouth bitter with alcohol and the recent defeat. He’s tapping his foot against Matsukawa’s calf trying to concentrate on a rhythm when his phone vibrates.

INCOMING CALL: Yamazaki ;)

He stands up, sluggishly swaying for a moment, “I’m just going to.” He points his thumb to the door.

Oikawa gives a small smile his head leaning against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Matsukawa just stares at his feet.

He answers as he stumbles down the hall, “Hey.”

“Hey,” there’s a soft chuckle barely discernible over jumbled background noise, “drink too much?”

The living room is dark, only a sliver of light peaking out from under Oikawa’s door. Hanamaki plops down on the couch, “Me drinking? No way.”

And maybe his ‘no’ lasts too long, but Yamazaki just laughs again, “That’s right you’re always so innocent.”

“Yep, that’s me, I’m basically a saint.”

“Ok well, my schedule’s changed tomorrow, I’ll just texted you the new time so you actually remember. Such a fucking saint.” Hanamaki can tell he’s smiling.

“You still going to help me with my homework, sensei?”

“Bring your calculator.”

“Come on! I was trying to be sexy.”

“Won’t be very sexy if you fail.”

Hanamaki laughs, “I’m always sexy.”

“Where did that sweet kid I met go?”

Hanamaki grumbles at the ‘kid’, but the room’s starting to spin, the dark shades blurring together, and says, “Yamazaki, I think I’m really drunk.”

“You okay?” Yamazaki’s voice is a soothing rumble.

“Yeah,” And oh, Hanamaki feels a hint of arousal swirling around his stomach, “but I’m getting a little horny talking to you. Your voice is just,” he flaps his hand around before remembering Yamazaki can’t see him, “really nice.”

Yamazaki laughs,“Want me to help you out then?”

There’s the dull thump of music and muffled voices from the end of the line. “Aren’t you at a bar or something?”

“I went outside outside.”

“Oh kinky.”

“You would be the one jerking off.”

“Informative, that’s sexy.”

Yamazaki laughs again is voice low and husky, “You like that?”

“Wait.” And Hanamaki knows where this is leading, his dick twitches at the prospect, but he doesn’t want to jerk off in the living room, his brain muddled enough that he’s having trouble figuring out where else he would go. He makes a frustrated noise, “I can’t right now. Gonna wait this one out.”

“You okay?” He pauses until Hanamaki mumbles a, ‘yes’, “Well get some water. Want me to stay on the phone?”

“Nah, I’m gonna sleep.”

“Okay, call me if you need too.”

“I’m fine. See you.”

“Bye.”

Hanamaki’s eyes are heavy and the couch is so comfortable, but his mouth does feel dry, so maybe he will get water.

“That him, then?” Matsukawa sits down next to him.

“Him?” He’s having trouble stringing Matsukawa’s words together, he’s still distractingly aroused, “Oh yeah, Yamazaki.”

Hanamaki leans closer so he can make out Matsukawa’s steely gray eyes in the dim light. The shadows are distorting Matsukawa’s face, running dark and angry across his expression. He sits on his hands so he doesn’t do something stupid like reach out. He tries nudging their shoulder together, but he feels like he’s sloshing around, so he leans back against the couch until everything feels a bit more in place.

“Do you like him?” Matsukawa sways slightly as he moves closer on the couch.

“Um, yeah, he’s a good guy,” he remembers their earlier conversation, “he’s gonna to help me study.”

“No I mean like, would you go out with him?”

A small smile stretches across his mouth thinking about the way Yamazaki laughed earlier. His voice tinny over the phone, but still so bright, “If things were different, maybe.”

The _could’ve would’ve should’ve_ bubble in his chest, they twist in up his throat coming out in sharp bursting laughs. Each noise rattles through him a mixture of self-deprecating mirth and exhaustion, he wonders if laughing has ever felt so much like crying before. He’s curled forward when he finishes, the room spinning dangerously fast.

His laugh echos harshly in the dark room and Matsukawa’s still looking at him— face solemn in the shadows.

Hanamaki leans back cautiously until the room stills. Dragging his hand from underneath the weight of his thigh he worries over the tense lines on Matsukawa’s face. The pads of his fingers drag over coarse stubble, he inspects it wondering when Matsukawa started shaving. He follows his jawline, touches his bottom lip. There’s a soft gasp and he feels the wet inseam. His heart skips a beat, there’s a pang of longing in his gut and he can’t concentrate on the should and should nots, so he moves his fingers back along their path.

Matsukawa eyes are half lidded, he leans forward until their nose touch. They’ve never been this close before. Hanamaki can see the individual dark lines of his eyelashes, the way they fan out longer at the end of his right eye. He’d always thought they were just less curled then the rest but this close he can see the long dark weight of them flicking against his eyelid. Hanamaki presses their foreheads together, settles his hand just under Matsukawa’s ear. He closes his eyes, listening as hushed, ragged breathes puff in the space between their opened mouths. _Is this even ok?_

He can feel his heart hammering and there’s something sharp in his chest, but he pushes it away when Matsukawa’s fingers run through his hair, clasping the back of his head and leans forward until their lips brush together. They stay like that for a moment, just a gentle touch of lips. Hanamaki closes his eyes tighter, everything’s spinning under his lids.

And this is new, but he knows the way they work almost intrinsically. Knows he could still pull back, slap Matsukawa on the back, play this off as a joke. Just another stupid joke.

But, the hand on the back of his head is heavy and he can feel the harsh breathes from Matsukawa’s nose against the side of his lips. And, Hanamaki’s heart is hammering, this is _everything_ and he needs more. He presses closer, angling his head to deepen the kiss.

Matsukawa’s still for a moment, but then he’s moving forward, one hand insistently curling in Hanamaki’s hair, the other clutching his hip.

He runs his tongue along Matsukawa’s bottom lip desperate to feel the wetness of his mouth again. Matsukawa opens his mouth and they come together almost sloppily. Their teeth clank together a couple times until Matsukawa leans his head just the right way. And Hanamaki groans pushing into the touch.

The hand on his hip slides up Matsukawa presses against the flesh just above his sweatpants. Shivering at the contact, Hanamaki moves his own hands along broad shoulders. Grazing his fingers through the short hairs on Matsukawa’s nape before sliding under the neckline of his shirt.

Matsukawa tugs on his hip pressing them closer and Hanamaki clumsily rearranges his legs trying to move one over Matsukawa’s thigh. He jerks forward when his foot catches on a cushion, toppling them both over. Beneath him Matsukawa’s chest rumbles with a quiet laugh. Still dizzy from the sudden movement he squishes his hot cheeks against the line of Matsukawa’s neck. A heavy pulse palpitating against his forehead. Lips run along the shell of his ear, murmuring something, but all he can make out is a gruff ‘Hana’. A hand moves, pressing against that one spot on his neck, Hanamaki nuzzles closer in response, lightly pressing his lips against skin.

One of Matsukawa’s arms swing over his shoulder and it’s a familiar weight. And, it’s so fucking innocent, but it’s like a punch to the gut. He remembers the weight of Matsukawa’s arm when they walk home from school. Matsukawa laughing— open mouthed and loud— at the stupid joke Hanamaki had saved all day.

And fuck, he has so much to lose beyond alcohol stained breathe and gasping kisses. Matsukawa doesn’t even like guys, he has a fucking girlfriend, has had a lot of girlfriends.

His mind treacherously reminds him of the way Matsukawa held his bony hip, tugged at his short hair. And, another part of him whispers back, it was never just about that, because some questions shouldn’t be answered. Some pieces can never be put back together and he _needs_ Matsukawa by his side as long as possible. He’s so fucking scared of losing him.

The pieces are sharp against his pounding chest.

And Hanamaki reels back landing hard on the other side of the couch.

“Fuck,” he rubs his face trying to sober up.

Matsukawa makes a soft confused sound his hand hovering in the air where Hanamaki’s head had been.

“This was a mistake,” his eyes dart across Matsukawa’s face, but his expression is so confused and hurt that Hanamaki immediately looks down, “It was just the alcohol.”

“Hana, what— just come here.” Matsukawa moves his hand under Hanamaki’s chin trying to push his face up, but Hanamaki jerks away.

“Let’s just forget this happened, ok?” His voice cracks around the ‘ok’ and he’s still way to drunk to be having this conversation.

“Fuck, will you just talk to me?” Matsukawa leans down so his nose is directly in Hanamaki’s eyesight, his hand creeping closer.

And Hanamaki is so fucking frustrated with this entire situation, because he just wants to lean against his broad chest again and sleep.

Matsukawa’s thumb touches the top of his hand and Hanamaki needs to end this conversation, “You have a girlfriend.”

The thumb twitches. And Hanamaki knows Matsukawa feels guilty, thinks if everything wasn’t so wobbly he could picture the expression he’d see if he looked up.

“I’ve had a lot of girlfriends.”

“No shit.”

Matsukawa grabs his hand when he starts pulling away, “and I still liked kissing you.”

His heart pounds with longing, but the pieces are sharper, “I’m not your fucking gay test.”

“No, Hana—.”

He pulls out of Matsukawa’s grip standing on shaky legs, “You’re my best friend. Can we just forget this,” his voice cracks again, “please?”

Matsukawa’s silent and Hanamaki would like to think it’s because there’s a note of finality in his voice, but knows it’s more likely because he looks like he’s about to cry. Quickly turning away he precariously walks back to Oikawa’s room. He bumps into the door and curses clutching his elbow, overwhelmed tears brimming at the edge of his eyes.

His watery gaze focuses on the bed as Iwaizumi’s rolls over with a soft sleepy noise. Oikawa’s curled on his side his back almost slipping off the bed. The tips of their fingers are just touching above the blanket. Any other day Hanamaki would be cooing at the scene, excited at the progress, but now all he does is walk to the end of the bed slowly wiggling between Iwaizumi and the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Hanamaki just shakes his head pressing his forehead to the wall. Iwaizumi leans over most likely to pull Hanamaki off the bed, but he catches a glimpse of watery eyes.

“What happened?”

“Don’t want to talk about it. Can we sleep?” He turns his face into the bed.

“Okay.” Iwaizumi sounds like he’s at a loss, but he moves over a bit and there’s a loud thump.

“Iwa-chan that hurt! Hey that’s not fair. I want to sleep in the bed.”

“Shut up.” They must have a silent conversations, because Oikawa is actually quiet.

The lights click off and a few minutes later when the door opens and closes followed by soft shuffling across the room Hanamaki doesn’t let himself think about broken glass and endings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Matsukawa leaves before he wakes up.

Exhausted and hungover, his head pounds in the morning light. He’d only fallen into a restless sleep at dawn and then woke up a few hours later to Oikawa cheerily chattering in the kitchen. And he’d left Oikawa’s house quickly— it’d been too bright and loud. And, he just couldn’t deal with the gentle way Oikawa watched Iwaizumi. Couldn’t stand the concerned glances they gave each other when they thought he wasn’t looking.

But, he still really needs a distraction, so he stops by his house, picks up his stuff and asks Yamazaki if he can watch him play basketball.

By the time he gets to the court his hangover has gotten better. He sits on a bench angling himself towards the sun, trying to stay warm in the chill of early spring. He watches Yamazaki play, likes the beat of the ball hitting the ground. He does miss the sound of a leather ball slapping against a hand, the satisfying thunk when it hits the polished wooden floor.

He misses the body that sits next to him after practice. Covered in sweat their arms are cool and slick where they press together. They laugh loudly at something stupid, their feet knocking together at the best jokes. Until their heartbeats slow and the sweat dries, their laughter quieter, their smiles lazier, the moment theirs. And sometimes, when they lose Matsukawa will press closer resting their still slightly damp heads together, murmuring quiet encouragement.

When they lost the spring high semi-finals Matsukawa tangled their trembling fingers together.

Hanamaki gazes more intently at the court, desperately trying to think about anything else. He carefully tracks the fluid, powerful way Yamazaki moves across the court. Hanamaki has never seen him play and is slightly surprised— he doesn’t know that much about basketball, but he can tell Yamazaki’s really fucking good, that he’s on a different level from anyone else on the court.

Hanamaki wonders again why he’s not on an official team. He’d asked once and Yamazaki just said something about time. The excuse seemed as much a lie as it does now— the guy plays pretty much every day.

Yamazaki notices him on the sidelines, mimes drinking and a tear drop running down his face. Hanamaki gives him the finger

The sun floats higher beaming directly into his eyes, agitating the remnants of his hangover, so he scoots into the shade.

It’s still too bright, so he clenches his eyes shut. An image of Matsukawa’s face, hurt and confused keeps needling to the forefront of his mind. So he opens his eyes, focuses on the kids loudly playing on another court. He listens to the dogs barking at each other. Someone’s smoking the same brand of cigarettes as Yamazaki. Probably the short guy that stops briefly to watch the game, that glares at him when their eyes meet. Hanamaki curls his lip, turning back to watch Yamazaki, uses the sound of the ball rhythmically beating as a distraction.

It’s not long before Yamazaki scores the final point, his team cheering. Hanamaki gives him two thumbs up when he looks over. Listening to the lull of conversation as everyone packs up he waits until Yamazaki walks over to stand up.

“Hello sunshine,” He runs his thumb under Hanamaki’s eye, “You look like shit.”

“You’re such a charmer.” He rolls his eyes.

Yamazaki ignores him, “Last night that good then?”

Hanamaki grimaces.

“That bad?”

“Not bad, I’m mean,” Yamazaki’s giving him that knowing look, “Yeah, it was bad.”

“Something finally happen with that eyebrows guy?”

Wait, what? Hanamaki’s eyes snap to Yamazaki’s, his heart beating nervous and sharp, “You knew?” Yamazaki smiles patting his head, “Fuck am I that obvious?”

“No, I just figured a cute kid like you acting so desperate must have someone you’re trying to forget and well, you do talk about him a lot.” Hanamaki’s face feels warm, “So, something happen?”

“Can’t believe you fucking knew.” He scuffs his shoe against the tarmac, “And yeah, but it’s not going anywhere.”

Yamazaki pulls him into a hug and he’s sweaty, but Hanamaki just leans tiredly blinking against the bright sun, “Can we just go nap?”

 

 

When they’re in bed, his back curving against Yamazaki he pulls out his phone.

 

TO: Mattsun

Hey

 

Yamazaki leans over his shoulder, “Very articulate.”

He pushes his elbow back into Yamazaki’s stomach and is slightly satisfied by the pained grunt.

 

 

 

  

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

By the time he gets home it’s already dark out. He tries concentrating on homework, but mostly ends up checking his phone for a response. He thinks about going to Matsukawa’s house, but only makes it as far as his own front door before turning around.

The clock ticks loudly on his bedside table and by ten Hanamaki’s a nervous wreck. He’s wrapped himself in a tight blanket cocoon on the bed. All the emotions he’s ignored since last night speeding back. His chest is aching painfully by the time his phone vibrates.

 

FROM: Mattsun

Hey

FROM: Mattsun

We should talk

 

TO: Mattsun

Coming

 

He’s already out the door when he sends the text and less than ten minutes later he’s climbing through Matsukawa’s window.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Matsukawa’s sitting on the ground leaning against his bed, “You were fast.”

He’s panting, his words spilling out in a jumble between each breathe, “I just want to say— fuck, about last night, I’m just so—.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hanamaki’s eyes snap to Matsukawa’s, “Wait no, I’m sorry.”

“Hana, just listen for a second.” He motions to the table in front of him, his face pulled tightly.

Hanamaki nods, sitting opposite him.

“You were really drunk and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of that.” His voice cracks and Hanamaki notices how red his eyes are, “I’m so fucking sorry.” He pauses briefly rubbing his face, “Shit, I had more to say.”

He reaches across the table grabbing his hand, “Hey it’s fine. It’s not just you’re fault,” a small cheeky grin curls his lips, “you know you were pretty drunk too.”

Matsukawa gives him a long hard look, “You shouldn’t joke about this.” He grasps Hanamaki’s hand more firmly, “You looked so scared, fuck, I thought I’d hurt you.”

“I’m fine and you know, I’m sorry too.” He runs his thumb along Matsukawa’s hand, “I shouldn’t have kissed back in the first place,” his laugh is small and harsh, “makes me a bit of a home wrecker.”

Matsukawa’s gaze is steady and intent, “I broke up with her.”

“Oh?” His heartbeat quickens and he wants to ask, ‘why?’ but he’s too scared. He thinks he knows where the question could lead and doesn’t know how he’d resist the outcome. They’re just friends, best friends and that’s all, that’s how they work.

Matsukawa drops his gaze, “Didn’t seem fair to her.”

And yeah, it makes more sense that he’s thinking about her. His heart still swells with disappointment at the thought, because despite his decision he’s still wants Matsukawa to want him. He feels selfish and bitter and completely unfair in his own contradiction.

“That’s too bad. Seemed like you really liked her.”

Matsukawa’s lips tilt into a small defeated smile, “I guess.”

He ruffles Matsukawa’s hair, “Hey perk up you’re going to find someone great.”

“I guess.” He says it again, but his expression is softer, his lips quirking sweetly.

Relieved by the smile he nudges Matsukawa’s foot with his own, “There’s that smile.” Matsukawa looks exhausted and still so unsure, so Hanamaki adds, “Want me to stay for a cuddle?”

Matsukawa nods and moves to his bed holding the blanket back until Hanamaki slides under. And Hanamaki’s dulled himself so much today, so he lets himself curl next to him, his arms loosely wrapped around broad shoulders, his head only slightly lower than Matsukawa’s on the Pokémon pillow.

Matsukawa turns of the light off before curling his arm just above Hanamaki— he can feel the hard bicep against the top of his head.

“Mattsun,” braver in the dark, surrounded by Matsukawa’s scent, his rhythmic breathing, he lets himself ask one question, “We’ll always be best friends, right?”

Matsukawa ruffles his hair, “Yeah,” his voice a soft grunt, “can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He moves closer to Matsukawa, “Same.”

“Hana,” his voice a low grumble in the dark room, his arm curls around Hanamaki’s head, a couple of his finger graze Hanamaki’s ear.

He hums in response.

Matsukawa pauses and clears his throat, “Will you make cake tomorrow?”

“Way to ruin a serious moment.” He slaps Matsukawa’s chest lightly with a small laugh, “What do I get?”

“Cake and as we just discussed my eternal friendship.”

“Thought I already had that.”

“Well, then you’d also have cake.”

He can tell Matsukawa’s smiling lightly, “I could just give it to Touma if you annoy me.”

“Actually he’s at a sleepover, so guess the cake’s mine.”

He taps Matsukawa’s chest again, “Maybe I’ll eat it all.”

Matsukawa voice is deadpan, “Please great cake provider will you share your bounty?”

“I suppose,” he tugs the string of Matsukawa’s hoodie, “but it’s completely out of pity.”

He chuckles and Hanamaki feels it vibrate against his hand, “So gracious.”

Matsukawa clasps his wrist running his thumb along the skin. They lie awake silently, but it’s not long before the thumb stills and Matsukawa’s deep breathes fill the room.

He stays awake longer staring at the ceiling his eyes just starting to droop when his phone buzzes in pocket. Pulling it out slowly, so he doesn’t disturb Matsukawa he unlocks the screen. He does accidentally elbow Matsukawa turning down the blinding brightness. He pauses for a moment to see if Matsukawa’s awake, but he just turns his head and after a slight catch of breathe continues snoring. He briefly contemplates running is fingers along Matsukawa’s cheek, but his phone buzzes again.

 

FROM: hanger-stalker

Are u awake?

FROM: hanger-stalker

Did it help being with someone else?

 

He looks at Matsukawa, his face obscured in the dark, but Hanamaki can feel his chest rising and despite everything he’s still allowed this close.

 

TO: hanger-stalker

Ye

 

 

  

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“You’re still going to Tokyo for university, right?” Iwaizumi falls into step with him as they walk outside to eat lunch.

Hanamaki can already spot Oikawa and Matsukawa under the fresh green sprouts of a maple. The late February weather is just warm enough that it’s crowded outside.

“Yeah.”

“Looks like we’ll all be close then.” Iwaizumi says with a small smile.

“Wait, that’s great! You’re going to Tokai?” He throws a friendly arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“Yeah, just got accepted.”

“Nice, man.” He squeezes Iwaizumi’s shoulders tighter, he knows how stressed he’d been about getting into his first choice, “That’s good, someone needs to take care of Hanger.”

“To bad for Matsukawa.”

Hanamaki hunches over as he laughs, “Yeah, poor guy ended up at the same Uni.”

Iwaizumi’s voice is quieter a small blush dusting his cheeks, “I’m glad though, that we’ll all be together.”

“You can be so cute Bara arms.” Iwaizumi punches him on the shoulder, but they share a small smile.

Hanamaki practically jumps under the maple, “Guys guess wha— what the fuck’s going on here?” Oikawa’s face is bright red and even Matsukawa looks embarrassed, a light blush high on his cheeks.

Oikawa flails is arms around, scooting back against the tree, pulling his lunch along with him, “Mattsun just told the most inappropriate story.”

“Shut up Hanger.”

Hanamaki sits next to Matsukawa trying make eye contact as he pulls out his own meal, “Let’s hear it.”

“It’s not worth telling again.” His blush darkens as he looks down.

“Well, now you have to tell us.” Iwaizumi leans closer his eyebrows raised.

Oikawa covers his face, bright red visible through the gaps of his fingers, “No, Iwa-chan, it’s not, uh—.” His voice tapers into a series of unidentifiable noises.

“What, really? You’re not going to tell us?”

And eventually, they do get Matsukawa to tell a story, only Hanamaki’s sure it’s not the real one, because he is completely unimpressed with the content. But before Hanamaki can question it the bell rings and they’re scurrying off to class.

He grabs Matsukawa’s arm with a cheeky grin before they part ways, “I expect a way better dirty story on the walk home.”

Matsukawa salutes turning into his classroom.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Loud thumping startles him awake. And for one disorienting moment he can’t remember where he is, but then he can feels Yamazaki’s heart slowly beating beneath his ear. The room his silent and he hazily drifts back to sleep, but the loud thumping restarts with a vigor.

He sits up in a bleary droop and pokes Yamazaki, “Someone, door.”

Yamazaki opens his eyes wearily slurring a bit, “What?” Then he startles when the loud thumping continues.

He jumps out of bed throwing on his clothes, “Shit,” he hurriedly glances at Hanamaki, “You should put some clothes on.”

“Who is it?” Hanamaki gets dressed, but freezes when he hears the door open, “Shit someone just came in.”

Yamazaki’s moving to the front door, quickly switching the light on, “They have a key. Look I’ll explain—.”

“Zaki.” And oh, this must be the ex.

The guy’s slumped in the entranceway, swaying slightly despite his hold on the wall. He looks vaguely familiar with a short build, cropped light brown, his eyes a similar color. The guy groans and Hanamaki remembering his own hangover grabs him a glass of water from the kitchen.

By the time he’s back in the living room Yamazaki’s carrying the guy to the couch, “You know you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Missed you.” He looks up when Hanamaki walks over with waterhis lip curling with disgust, “You.”

Hanamaki places the glass on the table before backing away, “I’ll just.” He points to the front door.

Yamazaki shakes his head, “Stay, just give me a—.”

Before he can finish the guy launches himself off the couch angrily swaying towards Hanamaki. He gets close enough that Hanamaki can smell a familiar brand cigarettes wafting off him and fuck, “You were watching the basketball game.”

The guy doesn’t even react just keeps sloppily walking forward until Yamazaki picks him up hauling him back to the couch. Yamazaki glances at Hanamaki questioningly before the guy grabs his shirt trying to pull him down.

“Where’s your phone?” Yamazaki starts digging through the guy’s pockets when he just shakes his head.

“No, I want to stay.”

“I’m calling Aimi, remember her?”

The guy nuzzles his head against Yamazaki’s shoulder, “Love you though.”

And Hanamaki wants to get out of the room, it’s one fucking bullet of upsetting information after another, but Yamazaki’s jerking back with a pained expression and he can’t just fucking leave him.

Yamazaki slumps down his voice trembling, “Haru where’s your phone?”

Haru tries reaching for Yamazaki’s cheek, but he pulls away, “Zaki I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”

He fumbles around before pulling his phone from his back pocket and he brandishes it proudly. His drunken smile droops when Yamazaki snatches it out of his hand.

The phone only rings for a moment, before there’s a frantic voice across the line and Yamazaki’s responses, “Yeah he’s here.” “Pretty drunk.” “Okay, see you soon.”

Yamazaki slides the water to Haru before sitting as far from him as he can.

“You can go back to bed.” Yamazaki looks at Hanamaki, his face strained, “Sorry about this.”

Haru gives him another nasty look, but is slumped heavily into the couch, his eyes drooping and bloodshot.

Hanamaki slowly slinks out of the room casting one last look at Yamazaki before closing the bedroom door. While he’s happy for the excuse to go he’s still worried about leaving Yamazaki alone. Completely awake, he lies in bed and listens to a muffled conversation, the door opening, the frantic voice of a woman, the door closing and then silence.

Yamazaki is stiff tense lines when he gets back in bed. They’re both still until Hanamaki slowly moves forward. Twisting his arms around Yamazaki, pulling him close. Pressing tightly against his back. He clutches harder when Yamazaki starts shaking, his body lurching with sobs. Fingers desperately gripping his forearms.

It takes awhile, but his sobs eventually stutter into quiet gasps.

And the room is silent except for rustling sheets.

Yamazaki faces him settling with a heaving breathe, “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry I like a man with emotions.” He swipes his finger along damp skin until it’s dry.

The responding chuckle is hoarse, “Of course you’d be into that, total S.”

“Me? Never. I’m innocent.” Smiling, he leans their heads together.

“Oh yeah, you’re a saint.”

“I actually wouldn’t mind a halo and some wings.”

“Think that’s an angel.”

“Well I can be that too.”

“You sure can.” There’s a weighted pause before Yamazaki continues his voice quieter, “So you know Haru?”

Attempting to be soothing he runs his hand up and down Yamazaki’s back. “No, saw him at your basketball game.”

“Ah.” Yamazaki curls his fingers in Hanamaki’s hair, his voice trembling slightly, “It’s not fair, is it? He breaks up with me, gets married and still won’t let me go.”

He winces sympathetically at the ‘married’, “You don’t have to talk about it,” he presses his fingers against the back of Yamazaki’s neck, “but I’m here if you want to.”

“Not much to say.” Yamazaki sighs leaning into Hanamaki’s hand, “Met him my first year of high school. He was a senior on the basketball team. I was young and stupid and fell in love the first time we kissed. And when I graduated we lived here, but he just fucking disappeared one day, came back telling me he’s getting married, that I should too.”

“That’s shit.”

“That’s life.” He wraps his arms around Hanamaki, his voice still raspy, “And you know that was only a couple months before I met you.”

“No fucking way.” And well, Hanamaki lets him get away with the obvious subject change.

“Yeah, remember I was such an asshole. Couldn’t believe it when you started texting me.”

“You weren’t that bad.” He nudges Yamazaki, “Wish you hadn’t laughed at me so much though.”

“Couldn’t help it you were adorable.”

Hanamaki nudges him harder this time, “I’m not adorable. Anyway I know better now. Under that assholiness you’re a fucking softie.”

Yamazaki’s grunt is self deprecating, “I think you have the wrong asshole.”

“Nah, like, I’d bet 500 yen that when we first met you watched me leave to make sure I was safe.”

“Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.”

He presses his point finger against Yamazaki’s nose, “You need to work on your pick-up lines.”

“I think heaven’s missing an angel.” He leans forward with a conspiratorial whisper, “Is your name Lucifer?”

Hanamaki smushes his face into the pillow muffling his laugh. With an amused snort Yamazaki ruffles his hair before his hand moves down tracing Hanamaki’s spine.

Spluttering out a final laugh he peeks up from the pillow. Dawn is just spilling through the window, the pale light softly caressing Yamazaki’s faces— illuminating bloodshot eyes and blotchy cheeks. A small quivering smile.

A heart, raw and broken, unsure of its beat, but not hollow. Despite a patchwork of heartbreak it still knows gentleness— caresses softly, whispers kindly.

Hanamaki presses his fingers against Yamazaki’s chest, soft thudding pulses against the tips. With a soft murmur Yamazaki’s eyes creak open and he presses them closer.

He shuffles forward, pressing his head firmly into the crook of Yamazaki’s neck, “It was shit. You deserve better.”

Yamazaki kisses his forehead, “You’re getting soft, Angel.”

Reaching for the bedside table he pulls a cigarette from the carton, the fire from the lighter dances across his face in the dim light. And Hanamaki remembers the same scent stale and bitter as it clung to Haru.

Plucking the cigarette from Yamazaki’s lips he holds it in front of his own, “Maybe this should be your last cigarette.”

He inhales deeply watching the way the red embers reflect in Yamazaki’s eyes. The smoke catches in his throat irritating his lungs until he’s coughing in large white puffs, his eyes watering.

Yamazaki leans closer with a chuckle. His head curled to the side he gently tugs Hanamaki’s hand forward until the cigarette is pressed against lips, the tip burning bright red.

The smoke curls around the first few beams of sun, “Maybe it should be the last one for both of us.”

 

 

 

  

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

TO: Mattsun

hang out?

TO: Mattsun

u home?

TO: Mattsun

heyyyyyyy

 

TO: Yamazaki ;)

no smoking! left lollipops in ur kitchen

TO: Yamazaki ;)

also send nudez

 

FROM: Yamazaki ;)

Study

 

TO: Yamazaki ;)

i wan nudz

 

FROM: Yamazaki ;)

You should study

 

TO: Yamazaki ;)

ur bad txter

 

FROM: Yamazaki ;)

uR bAD TXteR

 

TO: Yamazaki ;)

that was beautiful

TO: Yamazaki ;)

ಥ‿ಥ

 

FROM: Yamazaki ;)

Going to practice

FROM: Yamazaki ;)

 _Attached_ _Image_

 

TO: Yamazaki ;)

(´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`)

TO: Yamazaki ;)

Thnk u

 

TO: Mattsun

8==== >

TO: Mattsun

ur not responding so i take it back

TO: Mattsun

i only snd it to deserving now

TO: Mattsun

凸(¬‿¬)

TO: Mattsun

where uuu

TO: Mattsun

420 blaze it

TO: Mattsun

??? wow

TO: Mattsun

nothing?

TO: Mattsun

That’s so sad, alexa play

TO: Mattsun

we’re not mad just disappointed

TO: Mattsun

^ignore that

TO: Mattsun

i can do better

TO: Mattsun

that’s so sad, alexa play fuck u

TO: Mattsun

where are u?

TO: Mattsun

dabade dabada dabade dabada

TO: Mattsun

Waiiit do u no the conspieracy of that song

TO: Mattsun

Come on u luv consperacies

TO: Mattsun

*conspiricy

TO: Mattsun

*conspiracy?

TO: Mattsun

ur phone stolen?

 

FROM: Mattsun

dude

 

TO: Mattsun

thief!?

 

FROM: Mattsun

Stealing hearts

 

TO: Mattsun

gay

 

FROM: Mattsun

You are gay

 

TO: Mattsun

8===== <3

TO: Mattsun

where u been?

 

FROM: Mattsun

At oiks

FROM: Mattsun

Forgot my phone at home

FROM: Mattsun

Come over?

 

TO: Mattsun

u left me for hanger

TO: Mattsun

ಠ_ಠ

 

FROM: Mattsun

You can pick the movie

FROM: Mattsun

Not watching Treasure Planet again

 

TO: Mattsun

Nooo my sad boi

TO: Mattsun

iron giant

 

FROM: Mattsun

Do you want me to cry?

 

TO: Mattsun

ye

TO: Mattsun

bambi?

 

FROM: Mattsun

Your an asshole

 

TO: Mattsun

kidding

 

FROM: Mattsun

I’m eating all the snacks

 

TO: Mattsun

wait im coming

TO: Mattsun

u pick movie

TO: Mattsun

no TMNT

 

FROM: Mattsun

wow

 

TO: Mattsun

wow

TO: Mattsun

who even am I anymore

 

FROM: Mattsun

You don’t get any snacks

 

TO: Mattsun

get the turtles ready I need to find myself

 

 

 

  

  

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

The third years go to the last volleyball practice of the year. He spends most of practice teasing Yahaba as the new captain— claiming it’s tradition— and racing around the court wildly.

He wants to remember every moment, the way the ball feels, the echoey chamber of the gym. He’s already decided he’s not going to play in University. It's sad, and more than a little lonesome to leave behind the sport, but he barely managed to get into the school and can hardly afford it with his financial aid, so he really can’t fuck up. And he _really_ doesn’t want to put more financial strain on his mother. Now, he’s just trying to figure out the best way to tell his friends.

Oikawa finishes practice with a teary speech and Hanamaki is wiping his own eyes by the end.

He changes quickly hoping he can convince someone to buy him cream puffs, but he ends up waiting forever outside the gym with Iwaizumi, and his resolute no to the treat.

“Those idiots are taking too long.” Iwaizumi grumbles.

Hanamaki nudges him, “They’re probably still crying.”

They exit seconds later their heads bent together, talking in hushed voices. Matsukawa’s arm is bent around Oikawa a small smile on his lips, wearing the same look he had after telling Oikawa that dirty story. And, oh.

“Oh.”

Iwaizumi glances up from his phone, “What?”

He glances between Matsukawa and Oikawa when they stop in front of him. Matsukawa’s arm is at his side now, but his cheekbones are flushed, the remnants of a smile still quirking his too red lips.

“Oh.” Because that’s honestly all he can say his eyes still darting between the two.

“What?” Iwaizumi’s scowling at him now, “This better not be one of your ‘jokes _’_.”

“I just, uh, realized something.” His chest is heavy and sharp as he looks away from Matsukawa.

Oikawa glances at Hanamaki, then in quick progression his features shift from concerned and then panicked, “Makki it’s uh, it’s not what you think.”

“What the fuck’s going on?” Iwaizumi’s glancing between the three, his face mixed between angry and confused.

“It’s nothing.” Hanamaki just wants to fucking leave.

“Hana.” The voice is soft and he barely hears it over Oikawa’s rambling and Iwaizumi’s increasingly enraged call for answers, but it fucking breaks his heart.

All the months of trying to fuck away his feelings, trying to dull that aching want are fucking useless against the pieces tearing at his heart. And it’s even worse than before, because then he didn’t even have a chance, but he fucking knows for sure now. He can’t pretend anymore that Matsukawa was just drunk and horny, that he’s not _really_ into guys. In quick procession vivid memories race through his mind— Matsukawa’s arm over his shoulder, hand on his hip, his soft ‘I guess’.

And fuck, the only thing standing in his way is how fucking scared he is. His chest is tight with self-loathing. He shouldn’t say anything, but he can feel everything he fucking hates about himself climbing up his throat and he’s so _angry_.

“You’re fucking right?” He knows this is going to hurt.

There’s another, “Hana.” But he stares resolutely forward.

Iwaizumi’s hand pauses mid hit, he’d been yelling before, but his voice is a hoarse whisper when he turns to Oikawa, “What?”

Watching Oikawa’s panicked expression his anger turns to something dull, unfeeling.

Dark, stagnant pits whispering, ‘I don’t care’ as you sink further, your head obscured, everything muffled and distant and so fucking heavy. You can’t breathe, the world burns and all you can think is, ‘Then let it’.

Dim rays of sun try shining through the darkness, a gentle voice, ‘I’m here, I’m here’, but you turn away afraid it’ll shatter everything in the already cracked, worn recesses of your pit.

Oikawa’s eyes dart to Matsukawa, then briefly flick to Hanamaki before settling on Iwaizumi, “It’s not— we just kiss sometimes.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi’s scuffing his shoe against the ground, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not serious.” Oikawa looks desperate, he jerkily reaches out before retracting his hand, letting it fall stiffly to his side.

Hanamaki almost laughs, the dark pit curling around him grimly pleased. He knows those words, has been saying them for over a month, he knows how bitter they can taste. They’re words of hopeless possibilities. What you have, but don’t know what to do with. What you want, but can never have.

They’re wrong coming from Oikawa, who’s so desperately in love with his best friend. And fuck, he knows how they taste, how they feel and he wonders when he became so cruel.

The anger pushes back into him crystallizing into sharp painful pieces. They pierce him until he’s raw, ‘you can’t be angry when he kisses someone else, fucking coward’, ‘look at what you’ve done to your friends’, ‘you shouldn’t have said anything’, ‘you ruin everything’.

He’s so tired of feeling like this.

The air is tense. Oikawa’s the only one talking, his words increasingly frantic in the silence. Iwaizumi’s brows are drawn together sharply, his mouth a thin line.

And he can’t look at Matsukawa, can’t even fathom his expression.

“Shit,” they all turn to him, Oikawa cuts himself off sharply and Hanamaki pastes on a smile, “I shouldn’t have said anything. If you guys are happy,” he floats his hands between Oikawa and Matsukawa, “then that’s great.”

“Makki, I’m sorry.” And honestly, he does kind of hate Oikawa right now, but not nearly as much as he hates himself.

He also knows what it’s like to want desperately and hopelessly. To be a hurricane without a path. Or the moon missing the sun. He pats Oikawa’s shoulder before walking away.

“I’m going back.”

He doesn’t look at Matsukawa. Worried about the pit, the cracks, and an urge to hurt. The dark pit whispers uncaring words as the world burns, but fears the end. The sun setting for the last time, it’s rays touching the earth with a broken crooked smile and then nothing. The world bleak and dark. It’s only company a single figure crystallized in its depths.

And he doesn’t look at Matsukawa, because along with the dull, dark self-despair, there’s a hopeless possibility. It’s a murmur of pale silvery light just visible through ragged, raw pieces. It’s dim, but it flutters against the hurt defiantly, determined to be heard.

He doesn’t look because he’s scared.

Before he even reaches the front gate a hand grabs his shoulder turning him around almost roughly.

Matsukawa’s breathes are ragged, “Stop fucking running away.”

He glares at Matsukawa’s collar bone, at the fast movement of his chest, “I’m not running. I have plans.”

“Will you look at me?” Matsukawa’s voice catches fiercely on each breathe.

Fingers graze his cheek and he jolts back. Matsukawa’s body lurches, his hand hovering before it falls against his leg with a quiet noise, his hands clench in a trembling fist.

“Hana, please.” His voice is throaty and full like he needs to swallow.

And, Hanamaki can’t fucking stand making him feel like this. He forces his eyes up. Reminding himself of pieces and pits and ends.

He tries for a reassuring smile as their eyes lock. “Sorry, it wasn’t my business. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“That’s not—,” Matsukawa groans running a hand through short messy curls, “you’re so fucking difficult.”

“I’m pretty fucked up actually,” his laugh is pained, Matsukawa startles at the noise, “and it’s been a hard painful fucking mess, but I’m still trying. And I’ll be fine, it’ll all be fucking fine.”

“Just stop--. Fuck, will you stop being so vague? Just talk to me.” And Matsukawa sags, his voice comes back smaller, “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

And Hanamaki breaks his own heart, “You’re my best friend.”

“Hana.” Matsukawa closes his eyes briefly, exhaling softly through his nose, his fisted hand uncurling, “Fine, okay.” He pauses for a moment with a small pained smile. His eyes flick down, glancing at the right side of Hanamaki’s neck, lingering on the bright bandaid that’s just too small to cover the hickey over his pulse, “You have somewhere to be, right?”

“Yeah,” he doesn’t really. Hanamaki pauses feeling selfish as he turns back, desperate for reassurance, “we’re okay right?”

“Can’t get rid of my that easily.” Matsukawa’s mouth is quirked up on one side, the twist in his lips tense.

His chest aches at the smile and he wants to reach out, smooth the lines, but he remembers broken glass, a sobbed ‘why?’ and he can’t mess this up, he won’t lose Matsukawa.

And, he doesn’t really plan it, but thirty minutes later he’s sitting against Yamazaki’s front door.

His phone vibrating in his pocket.

 

FROM: hanger-stalker

im sorry it just happened

 

TO: hanger-stalker

meant what i said

 

He hopes Oikawa figures that out, because he turns his phone off intent on not dealing with anything else right now.

Flopping back against the front door, Hanamaki watches the sun disappear behind distant buildings. The sky is awash in warm blazing colors. Much higher the moon is just visible against descending darkness.

Soon he’s shrouded in night, the stars all dimmed by the city’s light and the moon is alone. Just a small silver crescent, dim even against ink black. He wonders if the moon misses the sun. He smiles, but it fucking hurts.

“Hey angel,” Yamazaki appears, stark against bright florescents, “didn’t know you were coming today.”

“You busy?”

“No.” When they’re inside Yamazaki glances at him, his face scrunched in concern, “You ok?”

Without a word Hanamaki starts stripping, his limbs heavier with each movement. “I will be.”

He pulls his underwear off, stepping out of them mechanically. Yamazaki is still, his head turned slightly, unasked questions pressing against tight lips. Shaking his head, he presses their hands together tugging Yamakazi to the bedroom.

He presses his hand against Yamazaki’s chest and pushes until he sits on the bed. Yamazaki thumbs along the back of his hand before lifting it and moving it to his own chest, over his pulse. Each thudding beat is as comforting as it is overwhelming. He falls heavily onto Yamazaki’s lap. Presses his hand harder against the pulse, allowing a brief reminder of gentle words and kind moments.

But, he feels an anxious energy swirling around him— it’s suffocating and sour. And he doesn’t want gentle, no, tonight he wants to forget. He tugs his hand away, moving to palm Yamazaki’s dick through his jeans. The feel of it presses against his hand and Hanamaki is fervent now, he opens the pants vigorously. Frustrated when some of the zipper’s teeth get caught as he tugs it. He leaves the zipper when it’s mostly undone to tug Yamazaki’s dick from his underwear.

Yamazaki brushes his hair back with a soft concerned frown and it’s too fucking tender, so Hanamaki smashes their mouths together and rides him right there while he’s still in his jeans.

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

He bakes Matsukawa’s favorite cake, chocolate with strawberries, for his birthday. He makes it even though for the first time since they’ve met he doesn’t have anywhere planned to bring it. Because in the end, the the third-year’s friendship didn’t explode— it cracked. Small, delicate rifts spread like clear thread between them. It’s only visible in the light and they step wearily to avoid the damage.

Guess all it took was kisses to fissure them. Leave deep craters of questions none of them will ask, feelings none of them will talk about. And well he’d seen the way Iwaizumi looked— eyes shocked and downcast. He wonders if they’ve all just been stupidly in love, all too afraid for anything more than friendship.

They kept to their normal routine— still walk the same path to school, eat lunch under their favorite maple, meet up for free periods, bother the underclassmen during unofficial practices, walk home together. But the thread is a tightrope without a net, it digs into their feet, the hard ground far below, each step carefully calculated. What they say, how they say it, if they touch, each word and movement precise, the thought of falling always right fucking there.

And they pretend, play off the tenseness. It's because of exams or Uni. They’re busy and stressed. At least that's what they tell the rest of the volleyball team when they ask. It's what they tell themselves when Iwaizumi angrily crams his nose in a book all of lunch period. It’s an excuse for why they don’t meet up outside of school.

It’s one of his excuses for not asking if Matsukawa still kisses Oikawa.

And it’s sort of working, but it’s also agonizing.

Hanamaki moves a strawberry, angles it until it lays just right with the rest. And fuck it, he already made the cake, spent an hour icing it. He shoots a quick text to the other two when he’s on his way to Matsukawa’s.

Matsukawa’s mom is a flurry of energy when she opens the door, “Hanamaki I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried when Issei told me you weren’t coming. He’s just been so sullen—.”

“Mom, please stop.” Matsukawa sidles up next to his mother, his hair is messily curled with sleep. Hanamaki wonders how he can still look so fucking good.

She gives Matsukawa a look, her dark eyebrow raising just like Matsukawa’s do, “You shouldn’t always be so embarrassed by your mother,” she starts walking to the kitchen with a haughty swing of her hips, “Hanamaki are you hungry.”

“No, I—.”

“I’ll make snacks.” She yells over her shoulder turning into the kitchen.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes, indents from the pillow wrinkle along his cheek, it’s the most relaxed Hanamaki’s seen him in awhile, “Hope you’re hungry she’s going to make a shit ton. Swear she likes you more than her own sons.”

“Well I am pretty amazing.”

Matsukawa chuckles, gingerly taking the cake box from Hanamaki, so he can take off his shoes. “This for me?”

“Yeah, just don’t eat it all. I told the guys to come.” Matsukawa tenses slightly and he’s suddenly worried, “Should I tell them not to?”

“No, it’s fine.” His smile is tight and he gestures to the cake, “I’ll just put this in the kitchen and tell my mom.”

Hanamaki’s never felt as out of place in Matsukawa’s house as he does now. It's always warm and welcoming and he doesn’t deserve it, feels so fucking isolated.

But, he’s here for Matsukawa, is determined for the night to go well. So he steals himself and walks in. Continues down the hall, watched by the many photos. Tons of (never that) tiny to big Matsukawa's lining the walls, that easy smile in place. He looks at his feet.

Further down dim lights flickering from Touma’s open door, so he peaks in, “Hey.”

Touma’s grown up a lot in the three years he’s known him. He went from a sweet round faced kid into quite the surly teenager. And he’s still so much shorter than Matsukawa was at his age, but his face is achingly similar. It reminds Hanamaki of a time when his feelings were new and weightless. When he could still dismissed them as a passing confusion. Then as just a crush. And, before he knew it Matsukawa was his best friend. The feelings weighed heavier and always unanswered, but he was fine as long as Matsukawa was there.

He was fine, because they could still joke and laugh, they still stayed up late into the night, telling eachother everything. Curled close in Hanamaki’s bed, Matsukawa told him about hating his height, the way he slouched over, because he always stood out. The first girl he dated telling him that his high school uniform didn’t suit him. He told Hanamaki about his strict, distant father and the way his mother overcompensated, completely overbearing. And Hanamaki murmured back about his long thin arms, his skinny frame. About the time he ate so much that he threw up. 

That night he talked about things he never had before— about a heartbroken question, shattered glass, closing doors and unanswered letters. His breathe stuttering between them, he talked about watching them dance around the kitchen, the way she smiled— sweet and happy and in love. How much he wants her to smile like that again. How afraid he is that she never will.

Matsukawa held him close that night, his arms a tight comfort, and the anxiety, all the broken pieces were warmly held together, briefly dulled. And the next morning Matsukawa’s lips curled into a sweet crooked smile, he was radiant in the morning sun.

And now, well they’re older, and everything’s just a little messed up, but Matuskawa’s still close, his lips still twitch into a smile, even if its a little more guarded. He can deal with it, because they’re still together.

“Makki,” and at least Touma still smiles at him the same way, he pauses his game, “Thought you weren’t coming.”

“Couldn’t stay away.” He leans dramatically against the door.

And Touma still snorts when he laugh, “Oh and thanks for lending me this,” his gaze flickers to the pause screen. Then he pouts,“Issei never lets me play his games.”

“Don’t be too hard on him.” He reaches forward to ruffle Touma’s hair, “You should get some cake when you’re done.”

Touma's eyes light up at the thought of cake, but he’s already reaching to unpause the game. Hanamaki rolls his eyes, but pats Touma’s head one more time before leaving the room and walking further down the hall.

Matsukawa’s room is the same as usual, but when he sit on the bed— the familiar scent of lavender and boy, the sheets ruffled, the bed still warm— he moves to the floor. Sitting with his back against the bed he remembers the night after they first kissed when Matsukawa sat in this same spot. His eyes were red and exhausted then, his hand trembling and it fucking hurts to think about.

He pulls his phone out when it buzzes, grateful for the distraction.

 

GROUP MESSAGE: volleybigballs

FROM: oikawawa

☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

FROM: oikawawa

COMING!!

FROM: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

I’m about to walk over.

FROM: oikawawa

iwaaaa-chan wait I’ll walk w you

FROM: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

Ok.

FROM: oikawawa

(*´∇｀*)

FROM: oikawawa

Makki u make CAKE?

FROM: oikawawa

I’m berry excited

FROM: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

We’re walking now.

TO: volleybigballs

oiks its illegal for u to make puns

TO: volleybigballs

i feel attacd

 

Matsukawa pushes the door open with his elbow his arms filled with food. He looks amused, but his eyes are sharper now, the hazy sleepy lines faded.

“Lookin like a snack.” Hanamaki does finger guns. He wonders if that’s pushing the new friendship dynamic, but Matsukawa’s lips quirk amused to one side, so he doesn’t really care.

Matsukawa does roll his eyes though as he places the food on the small table, but that's pretty normal. Then he moves to put the Pokémon pillow in his closet— Hanamaki wonders if Oikawa ever saw it, but shakes the thought away w moment after thinking it. ‘It’s not your business’. Settling opposite him, Matsukawa reaches for a cookie.

Hanamaki opens a bag of chips, “The guys should be here soon. Hanger sent the lamest pun.”

Matsukawa checks his phone, “Ugh.”

“Also,” he pulls a shopping bag from his backpack, “got you something else.”

“And I was just excited for cake,” his eyes light up as he reaches into the bag pulling out a black hoodie with ‘i’m not always sarcastic, sometimes i’m sleeping’ printed across the front. “Oh, shit, thanks man.

“Just thought it really showed you’re essence.”

Matsukawa tugs off the hoodie he’s wearing, his T-shirt catches revealing a quick flash of skin before he pulls the new one on, “Nice, you know I was just about to grow out of the other one.”

And well, he won’t tell Matsukawa, but that was why he’d bought it, “Don’t tell Iwaizumi that, I think he’d cry.”

“Poor guy,” Matsukawa picks his old hoodie off the ground and is about to throw it in the corner, but stops and looks at it consideringly before glancing at Hanamaki, a barely visible flush on his cheeks, “An chance you want this one? My clothes are too big for Touma and my mom’ll just give it away.”

He levels his voice, so he doesn’t sound so excited, “A genuine Napsukawa, I’d be honored.”

Matsukawa tosses him the hoodie and it’s still warm. And he wants to put it on, wants to feel Matsukawa’s body heat, see if it smells like him. He quickly stuffs it in his backpack before his face can start flushing. Embarrassed, he grabs a handful of chips and stuffs them in his mouth. Matsukawa’s looking down at his hands, pleased. And Hanamaki can’t think about that or he really will ruin everything. The room is uncomfortably silent and remains that way as Hanamaki desperately tries thinking of a conversation that doesn’t revolve around why his heart’s racing.

When both of their phones vibrate Matsukawa hurriedly snatches his off the table, “They’re stopping by the store, seeing if the old man will sell them beer. Should be here soon.”

The room’s silent, Matsukawa’s still looking down at his phone, but his fingers are still, his eyes unfocused.

“So, uh,” Matsukawa flicks his gaze up expectantly and Hanamaki’s reaching for anything to say, “Touma’s going to our high school?”

Matsukawa’s face softens, he rolls his eyes affectionately, “Yeah can’t fucking believe it. Says he might join the volleyball team.”

“Shit, Yahaba’s going to have his hands full.” He cackles at the thought.

“Poor guy doesn’t know what he’s getting into.” Matsukawa’s nodding sympathetically.

“He kind of  looks like you did first year,” he leans his head back against the bed, “makes me nostalgic.”

Matsukawa leans forward resting an elbow on the table, his cheek in his hand, “Those were good times.”

A small sad smile plays across his lips and it makes Hanamaki’s heart ache. He puts his hand on the table and aches to reach out, smooth the sad lines, poke his cheek, hold his hand. Instead he rests it on the hard wood as close as he dares.

“Plenty more good times ahead.”

Matsukawa’s lips quirk up happier, “Yeah.”

Then the doorbell rings and he can hear Oikawa’s voice calling out a loud greeting. Matsukawa’s stands up and walks to the door and suddenly all Hanamaki wants is a couple more minutes alone. Just a little more time with Matsukawa smiling just for him.

He feels fucking selfish, so he grips the table responding loudly to their greetings when they walk in. Matsukawa sits in the spot next to him around the table, their elbows brush briefly and Hanamaki yearns for more contact.

Oikawa morosely picks apart a chip across the table, “Can’t believe we’re graduating next week.”

Iwaizumi glares at the crumbs, but just agrees with a sharp nod.

“I can’t believe I have to spend four more years with you.” Matsukawa shakes his head with a sigh.

“Hey you know you’re excited! That also means four more years of volleyball.” He smirks around the table, “We’re going to crush you guys every game.”

“Fuck yeah.” Matsukawa adds.

And fuck, with every thing that’s happened he’d forgotten to tell them he’s not playing anymore.

Iwaizumi’s glowering, “You wish shittykawa.”

They all turn to him expectantly, he draws his thumb along the table digging into a small crack, “I’m not playing after high school.” He glances up with a small smile, “I’ll bake the winner something good when you guys play though.”

“I thought you were already on the team?” Matsukawa brows are drawn tight and confused, _‘Why didn’t you tell me?’_

“I had a spot, but I just need to focus, you know?” He carves deeper into the wood, worrying around the frayed edges.

“Is this about him?”

“Him, who?” His hand jumps from the wood surprised by Matsukawa’s sudden intensity.

“That guy, Yamazaki.”

He can see Oikawa shift uncomfortably from the corner of his eye, but he keeps looking at Matsukawa wondering how the conversation got here, “Why would this have anything to do with him?”

“He’s not the best influence.” Matsukawa’s leaning forward a displeased curl to his lip.

And Hanamaki’s so caught completely off guard, because Matsukawa isn’t like this. He doesn’t let emotions build up like this, he’s easy going and relaxed— blunt when something’s bothering him. And Hanamaki’s worried.

But, there’s also something impulsively hot and protective coursing through him, “You have something to say?”

Oikawa glances between them, ”Guys, maybe we shouldn’t—.”

But, Matsukawa cuts him off, staring Hanamaki down unflinchingly, “You always smell like cigarettes, you never study, you’re always tired, you’re—.”

He is so fucking tired, the tightrope digs deeper into his foot and fuck, he misses when it was just sweet smiles and whispered secrets, “Okay shit, can we actually not do this?” Picking at the crack again he glances down, “It’s not about him.” He looks up again and Matsukawa’s already less tense, his eye lids dropping guiltily. Hanamaki tugs on his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “My mom’s already having trouble paying for my sister. She works so much, I just want to help out.”

“Fuck. Sorry, I just—.” Matsukawa cuts himself off running his hands through his hair until it stands on end.

“It’s okay.” He say quietly. 

Oikawa reaches forward his hand almost touching Hanamaki’s shoulder before moving back. And Hanamaki worries his fingers over the wood he’d splintered early. It just keeps curling back out into the air. The room is silent, the tightrope still quivering from off-balanced steps. They’re not usually like this, ‘it’s your fault’, reverberates through his head.

His hands fly from the wood when a loud bang resounds across the surface. Iwaizumi’s fist is clenched against the wood, his shoulders tense and quivering.

“Iwai-chan?”

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi seethes, “it’s not supposed to be like this.”

“Don't worry, I’ll still be around.”

Iwaizumi looks at him, half-way to startled.“No, it’s— that’s shit too,” his shoulders sag slightly, “but I understand." He takes a deep breath. "It used to be so easy with you guys and now I never know what to say. And just,” he glances around the table, “fuck, can we just talk about what happened?”

And the room palpitates tensely, the stinging wire impossible to ignore, a splinter stings against his finger.

“Maybe,” and he’s still fucking bitter and terrified and he feels selfish, because there are so many things he refuses to talk about, but Iwaizumi’s already started this and well he really just wants his friends back, “it is time?”

Oikawa glances at Matsukawa briefly, his lips tremble slightly, but he looks determined, “It was my fault.” Oikawa looks at him guiltily.

“Not, fault.” Hanamaki says with a small smile. He’s become so bitter and jealous, but he knows what it’s like trying to get over someone else, “You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“Makki.” Oikawa’s lip trembles harder, Hanamaki motions with his hand urging him on, but Oikawa’s voice is choked up and thick when he tries starting again.

Matsukawa continues looking drained, “We’ve stopped anyway, it was never going to be long term.”

 _‘Why do you feel relieved, coward?’,_ Hanamaki shakes the thought away. And he really wants to reassure Matsukawa, poke his check, hold his hand, anything, but it’s still too soon. He tries looking stern instead, and says, “But you could’ve been Mr. Hanger.”

The room is tense for a minute, but it all comes to head at once. Matsukawa throws is head back howling with laughter. Iwaizumi’s breathe catches trying to remain serious, but soon stutter out in a gruff laugh, his hand reaching to clutch Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa leans into the touch his smile small and watery.

And Hanamaki knows they’re going to be okay. He’s going to make sure they’re okay, because fuck endings.

 

 

  

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

GROUP CHAT: volleybigballs

FROM: oikawawa

IWA ASKED ME OJT

FROM: oikawawa

OUT

FROM: oikawawa

(๑>◡<๑)

TO: volleybigballs

8====>

FROM: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

HANAMAKI

TO: volleybigballs

where?

FROM: memeson

Took u guys long enough

FROM: oikawawa

It was so sweet!!

FROM: oikawawa

He asked on the roof right after grad

FROM: oikawawa

He was sooo cute

FROM: oikawawa

(´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`)

FROM: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

IDIOT

FROM: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

Don’t tell them that!

TO: volleybigballs

meant the 8===>

TO: volleybigballs

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

FROM: memeson

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

FROM: oikawawa

MAKKIIII

 

TO: hanger-stalker

im happy for u

TO: hanger-stalker

lmk if u need advice suckin dik

FROM: hanger-stalker

MAKKKIIII

FROM: hanger-stalker

you nxt?

 

 

 

  

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“I think we should end this.” Yamazaki looks torn between moving closer to comfort him and further to give him space.

The small side street is just as empty as the day they met. The distant thrum of music replaced, by chirping birds. Between chilly gusts of wind the air is warm and sweet with cherry blossoms. The sun is low on the horizon, it touches Yamazaki’s face with a soft pink hue. And he looks so achingly young.

Hanamaki clenches the bench and it’s not the same, but he remembers the sad, _but, why?,_ “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” And he jerks forward as if startled by the question,“It’s not that at all, you’re amazing.”

“Obviously not.” Hanamaki looks down, his laugh sharp and self-deprecating.

“No you really are.” Yamazaki’s fingers nervously twine together, he briefly reaches for his pocket before putting his hands back in his lap.

Hanamaki pulls out a lime lollipop handing it to Yamazaki. Their fingers brush briefly and he yanks his hand away, his chest aching.

“See, amazing,” Yamazaki’s smile is small and sad, “but you’re already in love with someone else.”

“So are you.” He feels like he should be angry, but all he can feel is a dull throbbing.

“Well that’s the thing,” he tilts is head slightly with a soft twitch of his lips, “I don’t think I am anymore.” He laughs softly, the noise twists in the air with the final rays of daylight, “And I think if we keep doing this I’ll want to break my no boyfriend rule.”

Hanamaki’s breath catches on a single angry jagged piece, “What, so you’re not even giving me a choice then?”

“There’s not really a choice though,” his lips twist sadly on one side, tender on the other, “you should be with the man you love.”

“That’s not happening.” He slumps, the dull ache from before sharpening, thrumming against his ribs.

Yamazaki slowly moves his hand up, gently tugging a strand of Hanamaki’s hair with his forefinger and thumb, “What are you waiting for, Angel?”

He slumps more resting his forehead on Yamazaki’s shoulder, “I can’t. It’s not worth losing him. Fuck, I've already lost you.”

“Who says you've lost anything." He winks, moving his hand through Hanamaki’s hair, his words a small puff across his cheek. "Especially him."

The words twist through his sharp edges reaching for a small silver light— hopeful despite it’s cage. But he remembers pits, a tight rope, and he knows how easily they almost lost everything. He remembers broken glass, a closing door and he knows how fast endings are.

Hanamaki leans back with a bitter smile, “That’s just how it is.” Yamazaki’s mouth is pressed into a thin tight line, his hand falling from the back of Hanamaki’s head.

The lampposts flicker on and he stands up, Yamazaki follows, tossing the stem of his lollipop in the trash.

“You better not start smoking again.” One side of his lips twitches up.

“Wouldn’t dream of it angel.”

“And join the basketball team.”

“You’re so bossy today.”

The dull light of the lamppost and the last few glimmers of twilight flicker across their faces. Hanamaki leans up pressing their lips together in a small chaste kiss. Backing away, he glances down the side street, remembers when it was nowhere, when Yamazaki was a stranger. And he’s glad they met even if the end is a dull throbbing ache.

He turns, smirking over his shoulder, “Don’t worry you can watch me walk away.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

He walks the long way home hoping the guys are still in the park where he’d left them only an hour earlier. Only a fucking _hour ago._ It feels more like ages.

Time passes sluggishly, each step a dull ache against the path. The nighttime air is stagnant now, he craves the earlier chill. Electric lights flicker, but the sky is a rolling wave of black, the moon missing.

He wonders if he should just go home, cradle each dull ache until they thaw, but he can’t imagine going back to the empty house.

It’s only been a couple weeks since graduation and well, they’re doing really well now. He can see them now, their phones a dim light at the edge of the field. They’re exactly where he left them. He can already hear their voices, recognizes Matsukawa’s laugh. Relief floods through him as he approaches.

“I’m back.” He elongates the words, changing the cadence with each letter.

“Makki!” Oikawa’s eyes are wide with surprise, “You scared me.”

He thumps Matsukawa on the back as he sits down before turning to Oikawa and curling his fingers in front of him, “Boo.”

Matsukawa thumps him back, “Hey man, glad you’re back. Was getting tired of third wheeling.”

He grabs an Asahi Super Dry from the middle of their little circle, the top pops with a satisfying fizz, a stream of foam spilling down the can, “Speaking of, where is bara arms?”

Matsukawa shines his phone towards the woods, but the light just dimly reaches the grass in front of him, “Taking a piss.”

Oikawa looks fondly into the darkness, before sipping his own beer.

“So tell us,” he turns to Oikawa, a smirk firmly in place, “you guys done it yet?”

Some of the beer dribbles out of his mouth, a blush high on his cheeks.

Matsukawa leans forward as well whispering loudly to Hanamaki, “I think that’s a yes.”

Oikawa splutters for a moment, before finishing off his beer and setting it on the ground. His face flushed happily, “We did.”

He can already hear Iwaizumi’s heavy footsteps and cursing as he walks towards them, “So, who put it in?”

“Makki!” But Iwaizumi’s already settling next to him, so Oikawa just tightens his lips with an angry pout.

Matsukawa chuckles lightly, briefly nudging their shoulders together.

“What I miss?” Iwaizumi nods at him, “Didn’t know you were coming back.”

“Yeah, thought you’d be gone way longer.” Oikawa winks at the end of the sentence clearly delighted that it’s his turn to tease.

Oikawa twines his hand with Iwaizumi’s in the grass, their faces softly lit by the backlight of their phones, the sweet smell of flowers and spring curls through the air.

And well, the air doesn’t feel as still anymore, the ground not as hard and he thinks for the second time that night sometimes beginnings might be worth the ends. He glances at Matsukawa, he’s wearing the hoodie Hanamaki bought him, the hood slumped precariously at the crown of his head, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed. And well, he really wishes he was braver.

“Actually I got dumped,” leaning back against his hands, he keeps his eyes on the empty sky, not letting himself look at Matsukawa to gauge his reaction, he continues dully, “or well, whatever the words is when you weren’t actually together.”

“Need us to take him out?” Iwaizumi’s already leaning forward as if preparing to follow through with Oikawa’s words.

“No, seriously it’s fine.” He waves away their concern, “Was bound to end eventually.”

“You’re okay?” Matsukawa’s hand is gentle on his arm, his eyes soft and concerned.

And well, he will miss Yamazaki. Aches at the thought of not seeing him anymore, the ending sad and bitter on his tongue. The potentials of what they could’ve been rests heavily on his chest.

But, Matsukawa’s thumb is moving tenderly on his arm and he knows there never really were any could’ve beens. That it wouldn’t have been fair if let himself take Yamazaki’s heart when he couldn’t give his own in return. And he couldn’t bear it if he was the reason that tender heart was rubbed raw.

It’s dark under the moonless sky, but he’ll always remember the fondness he felt in the soft pink glow of that little side street.

“Yeah, I will be.”

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Eighties pop music floats through the early afternoon. He steps into the kitchen yawning, his body still soft and warm with sleep, Matsukawa’s sweatshirt hangs big on his frame. When he sits at the kitchen table his mother turns with a smile, a warm breeze from the window rustling her hair.

She smooths back her fringe, “Morning Hiro.”

“Good morning.” He smiles when she sits opposite him, blinking his eyes lazily in the light, “Thought you’d already be at work?”

“Took the morning for myself and look,” she gestures to the corner of the room, “I finally got that new CD player.”

Hanamaki turns with a jolt and there it is between the stacks of CDs and the toaster. He’s pulled harshly and suddenly from his soft, sleepy state.

“What? I thought—.” He cuts himself off, because they don’t talk about it. Haven’t talked about his father since he ripped up the last letter.

“I know.” She reaches for his hand across the table, “But, I’ve been thinking, it’s time to move on.”

“Just like that?” He grips the table to steady himself. He feels like everything’s swinging precariously around him.

“Well if anything it’s taken me too long.” She smiles softly, “But, you know I want to live again,” she giggles, playfully swatting at his hand before moving back wrap her hands around the mug, “maybe I'll even fall in love again.”

“What? I just—.” He cuts himself off, desperately trying to get a hold on the situation, on his mother, happy and giggling in front of him, “You’re not scared?”

“Not anymore. I’ve been thinking about it since you ripped his letter,” she smiles shaking her head, “you certainly are dramatic like me.” A piece of hair falls out of place and she brushes it behind her ear, “I’ve decided I want to try being brave, like you.”

“I’m not brave.” His throat is suddenly tight and dry, his eyes itchy. He tries brushing away the hot tears before they run down his cheeks.

She reaches forward pulling his hand from his face and clutches it between her own. “Oh, honey. What’s wrong?”

“There’s someone I really like, but I’m a coward,” he clutches her hand tightly, “I can’t do anything.” His voice trembles before coming back stronger, “Like with dad, don’t you wish you were never with him?” He desperately searches her face for the answer he’d been clinging too.

“Sometimes I used too,” She runs her thumb along his hand, “but now, I would never want that.”

“What changed?”

“I realized, I wasn’t angry because he’d fallen in love with someone else, I was lonely because he left me.” ‘ _but, why?’_ was acall of loneliness, instead of heartbreak? He’d thought the question was of an aching end, a heart shattered forever, a moon never able to see another wisp of daylight again, because it had faded into oblivion under one too bright, too painful daytime sky.

She pauses for a moment, her smile strong and bright, “And well, I realized we hadn’t been in love for a long time before he left. I let myself forgive him after that,” she clenches their hands together tighter, “because I remembered the two wonderful treasures he left me.”

“Mom.” He gasps holding back another wave of tears, because fuck, how wrong has he been. _“_ But the end, it still—.”

“Hiro,” she pulls her hand away cutting him off with a pat to his cheek, “you haven’t even given this person a chance.”

A crooked rare smile, an arm over his shoulder, a whispered, ‘I guess.’ A pale silvery light shines through red angry pieces and dulls their edges. It gently caress his raw torn heart.

“Shit,” She pats his cheek harder, “sorry. I have to go.” He races to the entry way tugging on his shoes, yelling over his shoulder, “I have to tell you something later.”

She laughs, “Okay, let’s both be back for dinner. Bring that someone.” And well, that would take care of what he wanted to tell her.

He races out of his house, the sun warm against his back, the remnants of his tears fall behind him into the wind. His feet thump loudly against the sidewalk. And narrowly dodging a young couple he careens onto Matsukawa’s street and hurdles himself over his front gate and into the back yard. His fingers catch and scrape against each brick as he climbs, accidentally displacing new flowers on the vine running up it.

And he tumbles through Matsukawa’s window, pulling the window shades off as he lands on the floor with a thud. He stays down for a moment untangling himself from the shade, rubs his elbow from where they’d hit the ground. He tries to catch his breathe, his body thrumming with nervous _excited_ energy.

“Wha—. Hana why—, what?” Blinking sleepily, Matsukawa leans up on his forearms, his sheets tangled around his legs. The mid-morning sun shines along his figure, his hair a curled messy halo in the light. “Shit, are you crying?”

Matsukawa jerks all the way forward already moving to pull the blankets away. 

He jumps to his feet nearly tripping over the window shade, “Wait. You can stay there.” Still panting lightly he honestly just wants to throw himself on the bed, but fuck, he’s going to do this right, Matsukawa deserves that, “I have something to tell you and,” he takes off his shoes placing them by the window, suddenly nervous, “just tell me to fuck off if you’re not interested.”

Matsukawa pushes himself back leaning against the headboard, his eyes alert. Making room next to him he pats the bed, “What’s up?”

He moves to sit at the end of the bed, but in the end, remains standing, nervously tapping his foot. He’s still so fucking terrified of answers, endings and sharp pieces, but this is Matsukawa and fuck, he has to try, “Want to go out?”

There’s a brief hopeful glimmer in Matsukawa’s eyes, but he jerks back in the next moment, his head knocking lightly against the wall, “What, you want to hangout?”

“No, I’m mean, fuck, uh,” and he doesn’t want to sound hesitant, not about this, so he breathes in deeply trying to steady the nervous fluctuations in is voice, “will you date me?”

“What?” Matsukawa’s eyes are wide, the Pokémon pillow clenched firmly in his grip, “Me? I thought you didn’t— what the fuck?”

“Fuck, shit,” he’s still standing at the edge of Matsukawa’s bed, his heart racing, that small hopeful glimmer dimmed by hordes of sharp edges, ‘fucking idiot, why’d you tell him’, ‘you ruined everything’, fuck, “I though— sorry I thought you felt the same way. I’ll just—.” He motions to the window, he can’t fucking breathe, it feels like everything collapsing. He was so fucking wrong.

“The same way? Don’t,” Matsukawa jumps out of bed grabbing Hanamaki’s hand, “don’t run away. Just give me, I just need, fuck—.” He runs his fingers through sleepy curls, his voice is soft, his eyebrows drawn, “I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”

“No, fuck, I do. I—,” and fuck he wants to say it, has so much to tell Matsukawa, but he can’t voice anything— his throat still tender and raw with all the sharp warnings.

Matsukawa’s fingers tremble slightly on his arms, “Is this just because Yamazaki—?” His voice trails off, but his brows tightens with self-doubt.

“No, it doesn’t—.”

“Because I can’t be you’re rebound or—.”

“Fuck it’s not—,” his heart trembles, terrified, but this is Matsukawa and he’s already hurt them both so much. He’s so fucking tired of being the moon. Content to watch from above, dim and faded, happy with passing moments. And he wants to be brave, just like his mom said. He wants to pull that sharp jagged piece from his foot for good. Because it’s not going to be about endings anymore. So, he pushes everything pointed and painful away until it’s just him looking into Matsukawa’s eyes and he lets himself see possibilities.

And he says, “I love you.”

“You, me?” He leans forward and for one heart wrenching moment he thinks Matsukawa’s going to kiss him, but then he jerks back a frustrated crease in his brow, his lips pulled tightly— a strange mix of angry and astonished, “How long?”

Three years, “A long time.” Matsukawa stays quiet waiting for more, “Before I got with Yamazaki.”

Frustrated, Matsukawa pulls his hands through his hair again, the curls standing lopsidedly, “Why’d you— for months you’ve known how I felt, right? Fuck, Hana, you made me feel crazy for thinking you felt the same way.”

“I know, fuck I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

All the months and years of holding himself back, of bitter tastes, and anxious jealousy, of sharp pieces and hopeless possibilities, curl into a few short words, his voice nervous and raw, “I didn’t want to lose you.”

And his eyes are watery again, a small tear presses out, stinging his eye, still so red and sore from earlier. He looks down watching it fall against the hard wooden floor.

“Then don’t.” Matsukawa presses a finger under his chin tilting his face up. And fuck, his heart stutters, because Matsukawa’s expression is loving and open, his heavy brow a sweet arch. His lips are upturned, one side raised higher in a crooked smile. “Say it again.”

Hanamaki tearily chokes around his words, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“No,” Matsukawa run his fingers through Hanamaki’s hair and cups the back of his head, “the other thing.”

He carefully pinches the front of Matsukawa’s shirt, has hand trembles, “Uh, I’m sorry?”

Matsukawa laughs, short and bright, “Before that.”

 _Oh_ , “I love you.”

Matsukawa leans down and kisses him. And this time neither of them hesitate, pressing deeper for desperate fast catches of lips and tongues. Grasping hands clutch at hips and shoulders, the room filled with choked heaving breathes.

Matsukawa pulls back first a string of spit snapping as they disconnect. He moves is lips down the right side of Hanamaki’s neck pressing over his pulse. Groaning, Hanamaki arches as Matsukawa nips and sucks at the spot, his hands clasping Hanamaki’s nape, pressing into that one spot, sending shivers down his spine.

“Fuck, Mattsun.” Arousal’s already urgently bubbling low in his belly.

Matsukawa bites the spot one final time before moving his lips back up again, the tip of his nose brushing the side of his face.

He presses their foreheads together, leaning just out of reach when Hanamaki chases his lips, he chuckles at Hanamaki’s small frown, before responding, his voice hushed and gravelly, “My first name.” He pauses for a minute his mouth twitching as if remembering how to speak, “Use my first name.”

“Issei.” He presses closer breathing it into Matsukawa’s mouth.

His heart races when Matsukawa exhales a soft, “Takahiro.”

This time Matsukawa doesn’t lean away when he moves forward for a kiss. And he presses back, his dick just as hard, when Hanamaki grinds their hips together.

And it’s Matsukawa who runs his fingers down the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers hesitating at the hemline of his shorts and asks, “This okay?”

“Fuck, Issei,” he nods jerkily, gasping as Matsukawa tugs his shorts down his fingers circling his dick.

He almost comes at the touch and has to lean against Matsukawa for a moment gasping at the feel of his hand before he can hazily reach into Matsukawa’s pants. He cups Matsukawa’s dick before running his fingers down its length and pulling it past the elastic waist band. He moves closer pressing their dicks together and he doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to coming so fast. He grinds forward a few times, his breathe catching when Matsukawa’s runs his thump along the tip, before putting his hand around their dicks and tugging up.

Matsukawa grunts breathily in his ear as Hanamaki fists his hands next to Matsukawa’s, tugging up at the same rhythm. His legs shake beneath him and he falls forward pressing more of his weight against Matsukawa. With a small breathy laugh Matsukawa wraps a steadying arm around him before sliding his fingers down Hanamaki’s back to grip his ass. And their hands only stutter a few more times, before Matsukawa nudges their foreheads together with a low grunt.

And Hanamaki wants to see him when he comes, but everything’s blurry this close and he can’t fathom pulling away. So he does his best to watch Matsukawa—his features fuzzy and doubled this near—as he groans loudly with a final jerk into their clasped hands. And when he comes seconds later it’s with Matsukawa’s smile pressed against his mouth.

Still clutching each other they stumble the few steps to Matsukawa’s bed. Hanamaki’s legs quiver, shorts tangle around his ankles, so he shakes them off as they collapse.

Their breathes still ragged, they lay on top of the sheets. And he leans his ear against Matsukawa’s chest listening to his racing heart.

Matsukawa lets out a breathy chuckle. “I guess that’s one way to wake up.”

“You do know it’s almost afternoon.”

“Shut up, bet you haven’t been awake that long.”

Hanamaki laughs, maybe too hard, but he feels like he’s flying, “You got me there.”

“Can’t believe you broke my window shade.”

“Shut up,” he leans up pressing their foreheads together, “can’t believe you came all over my hoodie.” He wipes it against Matsukawa’s shirt.

And Matsukawa just laughs goofily running his fingers over the ‘sleepy af’, “Looks good on you.”

“Too bad I have to take it off.”

“Well,” Matsukawa runs his hand under the fabric, pressing his fingers against Hanamaki’s bare stomach, “I don’t mind that either.”

“Bro, at least take a guy to dinner first, no homo.”

“How about full homo?” Laughing, his fingers slide down Hanamaki’s back to pat his ass.

“Like all the food is penis shaped?”

“Idiot.” Matsukawa presses forward for a quick kiss, “I love you too, you know.” 

Smiling, Hanamaki kisses him back and mumbles, “Feel like I’m dreaming.”

Matsukawa rolls them over, leans forward resting on his forearms, he kisses Hanamaki’s forehead, his nose, each of his cheeks, breathing the words out between the kisses, “I love you.” He presses their lips together again like it’s a definite punctuation. He moves away, but Hanamaki can still feel his hot breathe when he chuckles happily, it sounds just a bit astonished, “Fuck, it feels good to say that.”

He spread his fingers against Matsukawa’s chest, “Trust me, I know.”

And well, maybe they never were the sun and the moon. And he was just a scared boy too afraid of broken glass and endings, to see the beginning laid out in front of him the whole time.

**Author's Note:**

> Le spongebob narrator: One hour later
> 
> “So Hanger-san?” Hanamaki wiggles his eyebrow.
> 
> “Shut up.”
> 
> He lowers his voice conspiratorially, “Was he as good as he says he is?”
> 
> This time Matsukawa does shut him up with a well aimed press of lips and Hanamaki fucking _giggles_ against him. 
> 
> He pulls back, pressing his head into the pillow with an impish grin, “Did he taste like milk bread?”
> 
> Matsukawa groans, but something begrudgingly amused tugs his lips up, “Do you ever stop talking?”
> 
> “Make me.” 
> 
> Matsukawa groans for an entirely different reason this time.
> 
> ********
> 
> Sorry guys this could use 100 more rounds of editing, but I need my life back(´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`)
> 
> I wrote this on an iPad so please excuse stupid mistakes. Autocorrect is a real asshole. Also incase you didn’t know I’m a slut for kudos :)))))))  
> Also comments ;)


End file.
